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Tom Bkown’s School Days. 


£Y 


THOMAS HUOHES. 


N ew York : 

THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING CO 
Nos. 72-76 Walker Street. 


?l7 

.W'&vt 


486555 
AUG 27 1PA9 


TO 

MRS. ARNOLD, 

OF FOX IIOWE. 

THIS BOOK IS (WITHOUT HER PERMISSION) 

DEDICATED 

BY THE AUTHOR, 

77HO OWES MORE THAN nE CAN EVER ACKNOWLEDGE ©E 


FORGET TO HER AND HERS, 



PREFACE 


TO THE SIXTH EDITION. 

I received the following letter from an old friend soon 
after the last edition of this book was published, and re^ 
solved, if ever another edition were called for, to print it. 
For it is clear from this and other like comments, that 
something more should have been said expressly on the 
subject of bullying, and how it is to be met. 

“ My dear , 

“ I blame myself for not having earlier suggested 
whether you could not, in another edition of Tom Brown, 
or another story, denounce more decidedly the evils of bul- 
lying at schools. You have indeed done so, and in th@ 
best way, by making Flashman the bully the most com 
temptible character; but in that scene of the tossing , and 
similar passages, you hardly suggest that such things should 
be stopped — and do not suggest any means of putting an 
end to them. 

“ This subject has been on my mind for years. It fills 
me with grief and misery to think what weak and nervous 
children go through at school — how their health and char- 
acter for life are destroyed by rough and brutal treatment. 

“ It was some comfort to be under the old delusion that 
fear and nervousness can be cured by violence, and that 
knocking about will turn a timid boy into a bold one. But 
now wo know well enough that it is not true. Gradually 
training a timid child to do bold acts would be most de- 
sirable; but frightening him and ill-treating him will not 
make him courageous. Every medical man knows the 
fatal effects of terror, or agitation, or excitement, to nerves 
that are oversensitive. There are different kinds of cour^ 
age, as you have shown in your character of Arthur. 

“ A boy may have moral courage, and a finely organized 
brain and nervous system. Such a boy is calculated, it 
judiciously educated, to be a great, wise, and useful man; 


VI 


PREFACE. 


but he may not possess animal courage; aud one night’s 
tossing or bullying may produce such an injury to his 
brain and nerves that his usefulness is spoiled for life. I 
verily believe that hundreds of noble organizations are thus 
destroyed every year. Horse-jockeys have learned to be 
wiser; they know that a highly nervous horse is utterly de- 
stroyed by harshness. A groom who tried to cure a shying 
horse by roughness and violence would be discharged as a 
brute and fool. A man who would regulate his watch with 
a crowbar would be considered an ass. But a person who 
thinks a child of delicate and nervous organization can be 
made bold by bullying is no better. 

“He can be made bold Jby healthy exercise and games 
and sports; but that is quite a different thing. And even 
these games and sports should bear some proportion to his 
strength and capacities. 

“ I very much doubt whether small children should play 
with big ones— the rush of a set of great fellows at foot- 
ball, or the speed of a cricket-ball sent by a strong hitter, 
must be very alarming to a mere child, to a child who might 
stand up boldly enough among children of his own size and 
height. 

“ Look at half a dozen small children playing cricket by 
themselves; how feeble are their blows, how slowly they 
bowl. You can measure in that way their capacity. 

“ Tom Brown and his eleven were bold enough playing 
against an eleven of about their own caliber; but 1 suspect 
they would have been in a precious funk if they had played 
against eleven giants, whose bowling bore the same pro- 
portion to theirs that theirs does to the small children’s 
above. 

“ To return to the tossing. I must say I think some 
means might be devised to enable school-boys to go to bed 
in quietness and peace — and that some means ought to be 
devised and enforced. No good, moral or physical, to 
those who bully or those who are bullied, can ensue from 
such scenes as take place in the dormitories of schools. I 
suspect that British wisdom and ingenuity are sufficient to 
discover a remedy for this evil, if directed in the right di- 
rection. 

“ The fact is, that the condition of a small boy at a large 
school is one of peculiar hardship and suffering. He is 
entirely at the mercy of proverbially the roughest things in 


PREFACE. 


vii 


the universe — great school-boys; and he is deprived of the 
protection which the weak have in civilized society; for he 
may not complain; if he does he is an outlaw — he has no 
protector but public opinion, and that a public opinion of 
the very lowest grade, the opinion of rude and ignorant 
boys. 

“ What do school-bnys know of those deep questions of 
moral and physical philosophy, of the anatomy of mind and 
body, by which the treatment of a child should be regu- 
lated? 

“ Why should the laws of civilization be suspended for 
schools? Why should boys be left to herd together with 
no law but that of force or cunning? What would become 
of society if it were constituted on the same principles? It 
would be plunged into anarchy in a week. 

“ One of our judges not long ago refused to extend the 
protection of the law to a child who had been ill-treated at 
school. If a party of navvies had given him a licking, and 
he had brought the case before a magistrate, what would 
he have thought if the magistrate had refused to protect 
him, on the ground that if such cases were brought before 
him he might have fifty a day from one town only? 

“ Now I agree with you that a constant supervision of 
the master is not desirable or possible — and that telling 
tales, or constantly referring to the master for protection, 
would only produce ill-will and worse treatment. 

“ If I rightly understand your book, it is an effort to im- 
prove the condition of schools by improving the tone of 
morality and public opinion in them. But your book con- 
tains the most indubitable proofs that the condition of the 
younger boys at public schools, except under the rare dic- 
tatorship of an Old Brooke, is one of great hardship and 
suffering. 

“ A timid and nervous boy is from morning till night in 
a state of bodily fear. He is constantly tormented when 
trying to learn his lessons. His play-hours are occupied in 
fagging, in a horrid funk of cricket-balls and foot-balls, 
and the violent sport of creatures who, to him, are giants. 
He goes to his bed in fear and trembling — worse than the 
reality of the rough treatment to which he is perhaps sub- 
jected. 

“ I believe there is only one complete remedy. It is not 
in magisterial supervision; nor in telling tales; nor in rais- 


viii 


PREFACE. 


ing the tone of public opinion among school-boys — but in 
the separation of boys of different ages into different schools. 

“ There should be at least three different classes of schools 
■ — the first for boys from nine to twelve; the second for 
boys from twelve to fifteen; the third for those above fif- 
teen. And these schools should be in different localities. 

“ There ought to be a certain amount of supervision by 
the master at those times when there are special occasions 
for bullying, e. g. in the long winter evenings, and when 
the boys are congregated together in the bedrooms. Surely 
it can not be an impossibility to keep order, and protect 
the weak at such times. Whatever evils might arise from 
supervision, they could hardly be greater than those pro- 
duced by a system which divides boys into despots and 
slaves. 

“ Ever yours, very truly, 

“ F. D.” 

The question of how to adapt English public school edu- 
cation to nervous and sensitive boys (often the highest and 
noblest subjects which that education has to deal with) 
ought to be looked at from every point of view.* I there- 
fore add a few extracts from the letter of an old friend and 
school-fellow, than whom no man in England is better able 
to speak on the subject: 

“ What’s the use of sorting the boys by ages, unless you 
do so by strength; and who are often the real bullies? The 
strong young dog of fourteen, while the victim may be one 
year or two years older ... I deny the fact about the 
bedrooms: there is trouble at times, and always will be; 
but so there is in nurseries— my little girl, who looks like 
an angel, was bullying the smallest twice to-day. 

“ Bullying must be fought with in other ways — by get- 

* For those who believe with me in public school education, the 
fact stated in the following extract from a note of Mr. G. De Bunsen, 
will be hailed with pleasure especially now that our alliance with 
Prussia (the most natural and healthy European alliance for Protest- 
ant England) is likely to be so much stronger and deeper than here- 
tofore. Speaking of this book, he says, “ The author is mistaken 
in saying that public schools, in the English sense, are peculiar to 
England. Schul Pforte (in the Prussian province of Saxony) is 
similar in antiquity and institutions. J, like his book all the more 
for having been there for five years,” 


PREFACE. 


IX 


ting not only the Sixth to put it down, but the lower fel- 
lows to scorn it, and by eradicating mercilessly the incor- 
rigible; and a master who really cares for his fellows is 
pretty sure to know instinctively who in his house are likely 
to be bullied, and, knowing a fellow to be really victimized 
and harassed, 1 am sure that he can stop it if he is resolved. 
There are many kinds of annoyance — sometimes of real 
cutting persecution for righteousness , sake — that he can't 
stop: no more could all the ushers in the world; but he 
can do very much in many ways to make the shafts of the 
wicked pointless. 

“ But though, for quite other reasons, 1 don't like to see 
very young boys launched at a public school, and though 1 
don't deny (1 wish I could) the existence from time to time 
of bullying, I deny its being a constant condition of school 
life, and still more the possibility of meeting it by the 
means proposed. . . . 

“ I don't wish to understate the amount of bullying that 
goes on, but my conviction is that it must be fought, like 
all school evils, but it, more than any, by dynamics rather 
than mechanics , by getting the fellows to respect them- 
selves and one another, rather than by sitting by them with 
a thick stick." 

And now, having broken my resolution never to write a 
Preface, there are just two or three things which I should 
like to say a word about. 

Several persons, for whose judgment I have the highest 
respect, while saying very kind things about this book, have 
added, that the great fault of it is, “ too much preaching;" 
but they hope I shall amend in this matter should I ever 
write again. Now this 1 most distinctly decline to do. 
Why, my whole object in writing at all was to get the chance 
of preaching! When a man comes to my time of life and 
has his bread to make, and very little time to spare, is it 
likely that he will spend almost the whole of his yearly va- 
cation' in writing a story just to amuse people? 1 think 
not. At any rate, I wouldn't do so myself. 

The fact is, that I can scarcely ever call on one of my 
contemporaries nowadays without running across a hoy 
already at school, or just ready to go there, whose bright 
looks and supple limbs remind me of his father, and our 
first meeting in old. times. X q$n scarcely keep the Latin 


r. r?BEFAOS, 

grammar out of my own house any longer; and the 
sight of sons, nephews, and godsons playing trap- 
bat-and-ball, and reading “ Robinson Crusoe, ” makes one 
ask one’s self whether there isn’t something one would like 
to say to them before they take their first plunge into the 
stream of life, away from their own homes, or while they 
are yet shivering after the first plunge. My sole object in 
writing was to preach to boys; if ever I write again, it will 
be to preach to some other age. I can’t see that a man 
has any business to write at all unless he has something 
which he thoroughly believes and wants to preach about. 
If he has this, and the chance of delivering himself of it, 
let him by all means put it in the shape in which it will be 
most likely to get a hearing; but let him never be so car- 
ried away as to forget that preaching is his object. 

A black soldier, in a West Indian regiment, tied up to 
receive a couple of dozen for drunkenness, cried out to his 
captain, who was exhorting him to sobriety in future, 
“ Cap’n, if you preaehee. preaehee; and if fioggee, fioggee; 
but no preaehee and fioggee too!’’ to which his captain 
might have replied, “ No, Pompey, 1 must preach when- 
ever I see a chance of being listened to, which I never did 
before; so now you must have it all together; and 1 hope 
you may remember some of it.” 

There is one point which has been made by several of 
the reviewers who have noticed this book, and it is one 
which, as 1 am writing a preface, 1 can not pass over. 
They have slated that the Rugby undergraduates they re- 
member at the universities were “ a solemn array,” “ boys 
turned into men before their time,” “ a semi-political, 
semi-sacerdotal fraternity,” etc., giving the idea that 
Arnold turned out a set of young square-toes, who wore 
long-fingered black gloves and talked with a snuffle. I can 
only say that their acquaintance must have been limited 
and exceptional. For 1 am sure that every one who has 
had anything like large or continuous knowledge of boys 
brought up at Rugby from the time of which this book 
treats down to this day, will bear me out in saying, that 
the mark by which you may know them, is, their genial 
and hearty freshness and youthfulness of character. They 
lose nothing of the boy that is worth keeping, but build up 
‘lie man upon it. This is their ' differentia as Rugby boys; 
and if they never had it, or have lost it, it must be not be- 


PREFACE. 


XI 


cause they were at Rugby, but in spite of their having been 
there; the stronger it is in them the more deeply you may 
be sure have they drunk of the spirit of their school. 

But this boyishness in the highest sense is not incompat- 
ible with seriousness — or earnestness, if you like the word 
better.* Quite the contrar} 7 . And I can well believe that 
casual observers, who have never been intimate with Rugby 
boys of the true stamp, but have met them only in the 
every-day society of the universities, at wines, breakfast- 
parties, and the like, may have seen a good deal more of 
the serious or earnest side of their characters than of any 
other. For the more the boy was alive in them the less 
will they have been able to conceal their thoughts or their 
opinions of what was taking place under their noses; and 
if the greater part of that didn’t square with their notions 
of what was right, very likely they showed pretty clearly 
that it did not, at whatever risk of being taken for young 
prigs. They may be open to the charge of having old heads 
on young shoulders; I think they are, and always were, as 
long as I can remember; but so long as they have young 
hearts to keep head and shoulders in order, I, for one, 
must think this only a gain. 

And what gave Rugby boys this character, and has en- 
abled the school, I believe, to keep it to this day? I say 
fearlessly — Arnold’s teaching and example —above all, that 
part of it which has been, I will not say sneered at, but 
certainly not approved — his unwearied zeal in creating 
“ moraf thoughtfulness ” in every boy with whom he came 
into personal contact. 

He certainly did teach us — thank God for it! — that we 
could not cut” our life into slices and say, “ In this slice 
your actions are indifferent, and you needn’t trouble your 
heads about them one way or another; but in this slice 
mind what you are about, for they are important ” — a 
pretty muddle we should have been in had he done so. He 
taught us that in this wonderful world, no boy or man can 
tell which of his actions is indifferent and which not; that 
by a thoughtless word or look we may lead astray a brother 
for whom Christ died. He (aught us that life is a whole, 
-made up of actions and thoughts and longings, great and 

* “ To him (Arnold) and his admirers we owe the substitution of 
the word ‘earnest’ for its predecessor ‘ serious.’ ” — Adinburyh 
Beview, No. 217, p. 183, 


xii 


PREFACE. 


small, noble and ignoble; therefore the only true wisdom 
for boy or man is to bring the whole life into obedience to 
Him whose world we live in, and who has purchased us 
with His blood; and that whether we eat or drink, or what- 
soever we do, we are to do all in His name and to His glory; 
in such teaching, faithfully, as it seems to me, following 
that of Paul of Tarsus, who was in the habit of meaning 
what he said, and who laid down this standard for every 
man and boy in his time. 1 think it lies with those who 
say that such teaching will not do for us now, to show why 
a teacher in the nineteenth century is to preach a lower 
standard than one in the first. 

However, I won’t say that the reviewers have not a cer- 
tain plausible ground for their dicta. For a short time 
after a boy has taken up such a life as Arnold would have 
urged upon him, he has a hard time of it. He finds his 
judgment often at fault, his body and intellect running 
away with him into all sorts of pitfalls, and himself com- 
ing down with a crash. The more seriously he buckles to 
his work the oftener these mischances seem to happen; and 
in the dust of his tumbles and struggles, unless he is a very 
extraordinary boy, he may often be too severe on his com- 
rades, may think he sees evil in things innocent, may give 
offense when he never meant it. At this stage of his ca- 
reer, I take it, our reviewer comes across him, and, not 
looking below the surface (as a reviewer ought to do), at 
once sets the poor boy down for a prig and a Pharisee, when 
in all likelihood he is one of the humblest and truest and 
most child-like of the reviewer’s acquaintance. 

But let our reviewer come across him again in a year or 
two, when the “ thoughtful life ” has become habitual to 
him, and fits him as easily as his skin; and, if he be hon- 
est, 1 think he will see cause to reconsider his judgment. 
For he will find the boy, grown into a man, enjoying every- 
day life as no man can who has not found out whence 
comes the capacity for enjoyment, and who is the Giver of 
the least of the good things of this world — humble, as no 
man can be who has not proved his own powerlessness to 
do right in the smallest act which he ever had to do — toler- 
ant, as no man can be who does not live daily and hourly 
in the knowledge of how Perfect Love is forever about his 
path, aud bearing with and upholding him. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 

BY AN OLD BOY. 


CHAPTER 1. 

I’m the Poet of White Horse Yale, sir. 

With liberal notions under my cap. 

Ballad. 

The Browns have become illustrious by the pen of 
Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle within the memory of 
the young gentlemen who are now matriculating at the uni- 
versities. Notwithstanding the well-merited but late fame 
which has now fallen upon them, anyone at all acquainted 
with the family must feel that much has yet to be written 
and said before the British nation will be properly sensible 
of how much of its greatness it owes to the Browns. For 
centuries, in their quiet, dogged, homespun way, they have 
been subduing the earth in most English counties, and 
leaving their mark in American forests and Australian up- 
lands. Wherever the fleets and armies of England have 
won renown, there the stalwart sons of the Browns have 
done yeomen’s work. With the yew bow and cloth-yard 
shaft at Cressy and Agincourt — with the brown bill and 
pike under the brave Lord Willoughby — with culverin and 
demi-culverin against Spaniards and Dutchmen — with 
hand-grenade and saber, and musket and bayonet, under 
Rodney and St. Vincent, Wolfe and Moore, Nelson and 
Wellington, they have carried their lives in their hands; 
getting hard knocks and hard work in plenty, which was 
on the whole what they looked for, and the best thing for 
them; and little praise or pudding, which indeed they and 
most of us are better without. Talbots and Stanleys, St. 
Maurs, and such-like folk, have led armies, and made laws 
time out of mind; but those noble families would be some- 
what astounded — if the accounts ever came to be fairly 


tOM BROWN *S SCHOOL-DA Y& 


u 

taken — to find how small their work for England has been 
by the side of that of the Browns. 

These latter, indeed, have, until the present generation, 
rarely been sung by poet or chronicled by sage. They have 
wanted their “ sacer vates,” having been too solid to rise 
to the top by themselves, and not having been largely gifted 
with the talent of catching hold of, and holding on tight 
to, whatever good things happened to be going — the 
foundation of the fortunes of so many noble families. But 
the world goes on its way, and the wheel turns, and the 
wrongs of the Browns, like other wrongs, seem in a fair 
way to get righted. And this present writer, having for 
many years of his life been a devout Brown-worshiper, and 
moreover having the honor of being nearly connected with 
an eminently respectable branch of the great Brown fam- 
ily, is anxious, so far as in him lies, to help the wheel over, 
and throw his stone on to the pile. 

However, gentle reader, or simple reader, whichever you 
may be, lest you should be led to waste your precious time 
upon these pages, 1 make so bold as at once to tell you the 
sort of folk you’ll have to meet and put up with, if you 
and I are to jog on comfortably together. You shall hear 
at once what sort of folk the Browns are, at least my branch 
of them; and then if you don’t like the sort, why, cut the 
concern at once, and let you and 1 cry quits before either 
one of us can grumble at the other. 

In the first place, the Browns are a fighting family. One 
may question their wisdom, or wit, or beauty, but about 
their fight there can be no question. Wherever hard knocks 
of any kind, visible or invisible, are going, then the Brown 
who is nearest must shove in his carcase. And these car- 
cases for the most part answer very well to the characteris- 
tic propensity; they are a square-headed and snake-necked 
generation, broad in the shoulder, deep in the chest, and 
thin in flank, carrying no lumber. Then for clanship, 
they are as bad as Highlanders: it is amazing the belief 
they have in one another. With them there is nothing like 
the Browns, to the third and fourth generation. “ Blood 
is thicker than water,” is one of their pet sayings. They 
can’t be happy unless they are always meeting one another. 
Never were such people for family gatherings, which, were 
you a stranger, or sensitive, you might think had better 
not have, been gathered together. Fo* during the whole 


TOM BROW2TS SCSIOOL-DAta. Id 

time of their being together, they luxuriate in Jelling one 
another their minds on whatever subject turns up; and 
their minds are wonderfully antagonistic, and all their 
opinions are downright beliefs. Till you’ve been among 
them some time and understand them, you can’t think but 
that they are quarreling. Not a bit of it; they love and 
respect one another teu times the more after a good set 
family arguing bout, and go back, one to his curacy, an- 
other to his chambers, and another to his regiment, fresh- 
ened for work and more than ever convinced that the Browns 
are the height of company. 

This family training, too, combined with their turn for 
combativeness, make them eminently Quixotic. They 
can’t let anything alone which they think going wrong. 
They must speak their mind about it, annoying all easy- 
going folk; aud spend their time and money in having a 
tinker at it, however hopeless the job. It is an impossi- 
bility to a Brown to leave the most disreputable lame dog 
on the other side of a stile. Most other folk get tired of 
such work. The old Browns, with red faces, white whis- 
kers, and bald heads, go on believing and fighting to a 
green old age. They have always a crotchet going, till the 
old man with the scythe reaps and garners them away for 
troublesome old boys as they are. 

And the most provoking thing is, that no failures knock 
them up or make them hold their hands, or think you, or 
me, or other sane people in the right. Failures slide off 
them like July rain off a duck’s back feathers. Jem and 
his whole family turn out bad, and cheat them one week, 
and the next they are doing the same thing for Jack; and 
when he goes to the treadmill, and his wife and children 
to the work-house, they will be on the lookout for Bill to 
take his place. 

However, it is time for us to get from the general to the 
particular; so, leaving the great army of Browns, who are 
scattered over the whole empire on which the sun never 
sets, and whose general diffusion I take to be the chief 
cause of that empire’s stability, let us at once fix our at- 
tention upon the small nek of Browns in which our hero 
was hatched, and which dwelt in that portion of the royal 
county of Berks which is called the Vale of White Horse. 

Most of you have probably traveled down the Great 
Western Railway as far as Swindon. Those of you whtf 


16 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


did so with your eyes open, have been aware, soon aftow 
leaving the Didcot station, of a fine range of chalk hills 
running parallel with the railway on the left-hand side as 
you go down, and distant some two or three miles more or 
less from the line. The highest point in the range is the 
White Horse hill, which you come in front of just before 
you stop at the Shrivenham Station. If you love English 
scenery, and have a few hours to spare, you can’t do bet- 
ter, the next time you pass, than stop at the Farringdon 
Ltoad or Shrivenham Station, and make your way to that 
highest point. And those who care for the vague old stories 
that haunt country-sides all about England, will not, if 
they are wise, be content with only a few hours’ stay; for, 
glorious as the view is, the neighborhood is yet more inter- 
esting for its relics of by-gone times. I only know two 
English neighborhoods thoroughly, and in each, within a 
circle of five miles, there is enough of interest and beauty 
to last any reasonable man his life. I believe this to be 
the case almost throughout the country, but each has a 
special attraction, and none can be richer than the one I 
am speaking of and going to introduce you to very particu- 
larly; for on this subject must I he prosy; so those that 
don't care for England in detail may skip the chapter. 

Oh, young England! young England! You who are 
born into these racing railroad times, when there’s a Great 
Exhibition, or some monster sight, every year, and you can 
get over a couple of thousand miles of ground for three 
pound ten, in a five weeks’ holiday, why don’t you know 
more of your own birthplaces? You’re all in the ends of 
the earth, it seems to me, as soon as you get your necks 
out of the educational collar, for midsummer holidays, long 
vacations, or what not. Going round Ireland with a re- 
turn ticket, in a fortnight; dropping your copies of Tenny- 
son on the tops of Swiss mountains; or pulling down the 
Danube in Oxford racing-boats. And when you get home 
for a quiet fortnight, you turn the steam off, and lie on 
your backs in the paternal garden, surrounded by the last 
batch of books from Mudie’s library, and half bored to 
death. -Well, well! I know it has its good side. You all 
patter French more or less, and perhaps German; you have 
seen men and cities, no doubt, and have your opinions, 
such as they are, about schools of painting, high art, and 
all that; have seen the pictures at Dresden and the Louvre, 


TOM BROW1TS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


17 


and know the taste of sour-krout. All I say is, you don’t 
know your own lanes and woods and fields. Though you 
may be chock-full of science, not one in twenty of you 
knows where to find the wood-sorrel or bee-orchis, which 
grows in the next wood or on (he down three miles off, or 
what the bog-bean and wood-sage are good for. And as 
for the country legends, the stories of the old gable-ended 
farm-houses, the place where the last skirmish was fought 
in the civil wars, where the parish butts stood, where the 
last highwayman turned to bay, where the last ghost was 
laid by the parson, they’re gone out of date altogether. 

.Now, in my time, when we got home by the old coach 
w r hich put us down at the cross-roads with our boxes, the 
first day of the holidays, and had been driven off by the 
family coachman, singing “ Dulce Domum ” at the top of 
our voices, there we were, fixtures, till black Monday came 
round. We had to cut out our own amusements within a 
walk or ride of home. And so we got to know all the 
countryfolk and their ways and songs and stories by heart; 
we went over the fields,' 1 and woods, and hills again and 
again, till we made friends with them all. We were Berk- 
shire, or Gloucestershire, or Yorkshire boys, and you’re 
young cosmopolites, belonging to all counties and no coun- 
tries. No doubt it’s all right — 1 dare say it is. This is 
the day of large views and glorious humanity, and all that; 
but 1 wish back-sword play hadn’t gone out in the Vale of 
White Horse, and that that confounded Great Western 
hadn’t carried away Alfred’s Hill to make an embankment. 

But to return to the said Vale of White Horse, the coun- 
try in which the first scenes of this true and interesting 
story are laid. As 1 said, the Great Western now runs 
right through it, and it is a land of large, rich pastures, 
bounded by fox-fences, and covered with fine hedge-row 
timber, with here and there a nice little gorse or spinny, 
where abideth poor Charley, having no other cover to 
which to betake himself for miles and miles, when pushed 
out some fine November morning by the Old Berkshire. 
Those who have been there, and well mounted, only know 
how he and the stanch little pack who dashed after him— 
heads high and sterns low, with a breast-high scent — can 
consume the ground at such times. There being little 
plow-land and few woods, the Vale is only an average 
sporting country, except for hunting. The villages are 


18 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


straggling, queer, old-fashioned places, the houses being 
dropped down without the least regularity, in nooks anil 
out-of-the-way corners, by the sides of shadowy lanes and 
footpaths, each with its patch of garden. They are built 
chiefly of good gray stone and thatched; though I see that 
within the last year or two the red-brick cottages are multi- 
plying, for the Vale is beginning to manufacture largely 
both brick and tiles. There are lots of waste ground by 
the side of the roads in every village, amounting often to 
village greens, where feed the pigs and ganders of the peo- 
ple; and these roads are old-fashioned, homely roads, very 
dirty and badly made and hardly endurable in winter, but 
still pleasant, jog-trot roads running through the great 
pasture-lands, dotted here and there with little clumps of 
thorns, where the sleek kine are feeding, with no fence 
on either side of them, and a gate at the end of each field, 
which makes you get out of your gig (if you keep one), 
and gives you a chance of looking about you every quarter 
of a mile. 

One of the moralists whom we sat under in my youth — 
was it the great Richard Swiveller, or Mr. Stiggins? — says, 
“ We are born in a vale, and must take the consequences 
of being found in such a situation.” These consequences 
I for one am ready to encounter. I pity people who 
weren’t born in a vale. I don’t mean a flat country, but 
a vale; that is, a flat country bounded by hills. The hav- 
ing your hill always in view, if you choose to turn toward 
him, that’s the essence of a vale. There he is forever in 
the distance, your friend and companion; you never lose 
him as you do in hilly districts. 

And then what a hill is the White Horse hill! There it 
stands right up above all the rest, nine hundred feet above 
the sea, and the boldest, and bravest shape for a chalk hill 
that you ever saw. Let us go up to the top of him, and 
see what is to be found there. Ay, you may well wonder, 
and think it odd, you never heard of this before; but, won- 
der or not, as you please, there are hundreds of such things 
lying about England, which wiser folk than you know 
nothing of, and care nothing for. Yes, it’s a magnificent 
Roman camp, and no mistake, with gates, and ditch, and 
mounds, all as complete as it was twenty years after the 
strong old rogues left it. Here, right upon the highest 
point, from which they say you can see eleven counties, 


tom brown's school-days. 


12 

they trenched round all the table-land, some twelve or 
fourteen acres, as was their custom, for they couldn't bear 
anybody to overlook them, and made their eyrie. The 
ground falls away rapidly on all sides. Was there ever 
such turf in the whole world? You sink up to your ankles 
at every step, and yet the spring of it is delicious. There 
is always a breeze in the “ camp," as it is called, and here 
it lies, just as the Romans left it, except that cairn on the 
east side, left by her majesty’s corps of Sappers and Miners 
the other day, when they and the engineer officer had fin- 
ished their sojourn there, and their surveys for the ordnance 
map of Berkshire. It is altogether a place that you won’t 
forget — a place to open a man’s soul and make him 
prophesy, as he looks down on that great vale spread out 
as the garden of the Lord before him, and wave on wave of 
the mysterious downs behind; and to the right and left the 
chalk hills running away into the distance, along which he 
can trace for miles the old Roman road, “ the Ridgeway " 
(“ the Rudge,’’ as the country folk call it), keeping 
straight along the highest back of the hills — such a place 
as Balak brought Balaam to, and told him to prophesy 
against the people in the valley beneath. And he could 
not, neither shall you, for they are a people of the Lord 
who abide there. 

And now we leave the camp, and descend toward the 
west, and are on the Ashdown. We are treading on 
heroes. It is sacred ground for Englishmen, more sacred 
than all but one or two fields where their bones lie whiten- 
ing. For this is the actual place where our Alfred won 
his great battle, the battle of Ashdown (“ iEscendum 99 in 
the chroniclers), which broke the Danish power, and made 
England a Christian land. The Danes held the camp and 
the slope where we are standing — the whole crown of the 
hill in fact. “ The heathen had beforehand seized the 
higher ground,’’ as old Asser says, having wasted every- 
thing behind them from London, and being just ready to 
burst down on the fair vale, Alfred’s own birthplace, and 
heritage. And up the heights came the Saxons, as they 
did at the Alma. “ The Christians led up their line from 
the lower ground. There stood also on that same spot a 
single thorn-tree, marvelous stumpy (which we ourselves 
with our very own eyes have seen).’’ Bless the old chroni- 
cler! does he think nobody ever saw a “ single thorn-tree 99 


30 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


bat himself? Why, there it stands to this very day, just 
on the edge of the slope, and 1 saw it not three weeks since; 
an old single thorn-tree “ marvelous stumpy.’’ At least 
it it isn’t the same tree, it ought to have been; for it’s just 
in the place where the battle must have been won or lost — 
“ around which, as I was saying, the two lines of foemen 
came together in battle with a huge shout. And in this 
place, one of the two kings of the heathen and five of his 
earls fell down and died, and many thousands of the 
heathen side in the same place.”* After which crowning 
mercy, the pious king, that there might never be wanting 
a sign and a memorial to the country-side, carved out on 
the northern side of the chalk hill, under the camp, where 
it is almost precipitous, the great Saxon white horse, which 
he who will may see from the railway, and which gives its 
name to the vale, over which it has looked these thousand 
years arid more. 

Right down below the White Horse is a curious deep 
and broad gully, called “ The Manger,” into one side of 
which the hills fall with a series of Hie most lovely sweep- 
ing curves, known as “ The Gian’- Stairs;” they are not a 
bit like stairs, but I never saw mything like them any- 
where else, with their short green urf and tender bluebells, 
and gossamer and thistle-down gleaming in the sun, and 
the sheep-paths running along their sides like ruled lines. 

The other side of the Manger is formed by the Dragon’s 
hill, a curious little, round, self-confident fellow, thrown 
forward from the range, and utterly unlike everything 
around him. On this hill some deliverer of mankind — St. 
George, the country folk used to tell me — killed a dragon. 
Whether it were St. George, 1 can not say; but surely a 
dragon was killed there, for you may see the marks where 
his blood ran down, and more by token the place where it 
ran down is the easiest way up the hill-side. 

* “ Pagani editiorem locum praeoccupaverant. Christiani ab in- 
feriori loco aciem dirigebant. Erat quoque in eodem loco unica 
spinosa arbor, brevis admodum (quam nos ipsi nostris propriis oculis 
vidimus). Circa quam ergo hostiles inter se acies cum ingenti 
clamore hostiliter conveniunt. Quo in loco alter de duobus Pagan- 
orum regibus et quinque comites occisi occubuerunt, et multa millia 
Paganae partis in eodem loco. Cecidit illic ergo Bocgsceg Rex, et 
Sidroc, file senex comes, et Sidroc Junior comes, et Obsbern comes,” 
Ac . — Annales Rerum Gestarum JElfredi Mag id, Auctore Asserio, 
Recensuit Franciscus Wise. Oxford. 1722, p. 23. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


21 


Passing along the Ridgeway to the west for about a mile 
we come to a little clump of young beech and firs, with a 
growth of thorn and privet underwood. Here you may 
find nests of the strong down partridge and peewit, but 
take care that the keeper isn't down upon you; and in the 
middle of it is an old cromlech, a huge flat stone raised on 
seven or eight others, and led up to by a path, with large 
single stones set up on each side. This is Wayland Smith's 
cave, a place of classic fame now; but as Sir Walter has 
touched it, 1 may as well let it alone and refer you to Ken- 
il worth for the legend. 

The thick deep wood which you see in the hollow, about 
a mile off, surrounds Ashdown Park, built by Inigo Jones. 
Four broad alleys are cut through the wood from circum- 
ference to center, and each leads to one face of the house. 
The mystery of the downs hangs about house and wood, as 
they stand there alone, so unlike all around, with the green 
slopes, studded with great stones just about this part, 
stretching away on all sides. It was a wise Lord Craven, 
I think, who pitched his tent there. 

Passing along the Ridgeway to the east, we soon come 
to cultivated land. The downs, strictly so called, are no 
more; Lincolnshire farmers have been imported, and the 
long, fresh slopes are sheep-walks no more, but grow fa- 
mous turnips and barley. One of those improvers lives 
over there at the “Seven Barrows" farm, another mys- 
tery of the great downs. There are the barrows still, sol- 
emn and silent, like ships in the calm sea, the sepulchers 
of some sons of men. But of whom? It is three miles 
from the White Horse, too far for the slain of Ashdown to 
be buried there— who shall say what heroes are wailing 
there? But we must get down into the vale again, and so 
away by the Great Western Railway to town, for time and 
the printer's devil press, and it is a terrible long and slip- 
pery descent, and a shocking bad road. At the bottom, 
however, there is a pleasant public, whereat we must 
really take a modest quencher, for the down air is provoca- 
tive of thirst. So we pull up under an old oak which 
stands before the door. 

“ What is the name of your hill, landlord?" 

“ Blawing Stwun Hill, sir, to be sure." 

[Reader. “ Sturm f” 

Author. Stone, stupid: the Blowing Stone . "J 


22 


TOM brown’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“ Ami ‘if your bouse? I can’t make out the sign.” 

“Blaring Stwun, sir,” says the landlord, pouring out 
his old are from a Toby Philpot jug, with a melodious 
crash, into the long-necked glass. 

“ What queer names!” say we, sighing at the end of 
our draught, and holding out the glass to be replenished. 

“ Be’an’t queer at all, as I can see, sir,” says mine host, 
handing back our glass, “ seeing as this here is the Blaw- 
ing Stwun hisself,” putting his hand on a square lump of 
stone, som.e three feet and a half high, perforated with two 
or three queer holes, like petrified antediluvian rat-holes, 
which lies there close under the oak, under our very nose. 
We are more than ever puzzled, and drink our second glass 
of ale., wondering what will come next. “ Like to hear 
un, sir?” says mine host, setting down Toby Philpot on 
the tray, and resting both hands on the “Stwun.” We 
are ready for anything; and he, without waiting for a re- 
ply, applies his mouth to one of the rat-holes. Something 
must come of it, if he doesn’t burst. Good heavens! 1 
hope he has no apoplectic tendencies. Yes, here it comes, 
sure enough, a grewsome sound between a moan and a 
roar, and spreads itself away over the valley, and up the 
hill-side, and into the woods at the back of the house, a 
ghost-like, awful voice, “ Urn do say, sir,” says mine host, 
rising, purple-faced, while the moan is still coming out of 
the “ Stwun,” “ as they used in old times to warn the 
country-side, by blawing the stwun when the enemy was 
a-comin’ — and as how folks could make un heered then for 
seven mile round; leastways, so I’ve heered Lawyer Smith 
say, and he knows a smart sight about them old times.” 
We can hardly swallow Lawyer Smith’s seven miles, but 
could the blowing of the stone have been a summons, a 
sort of sending the fiery cross round the neighborhood in 
the old times? What old times? Who knows? We pay 
for our beer, and are thankful. 

“ And what’s the name of the village just below, land- 
lord?” 

“ King3tone Lisle, sir.” 

“ Fine plantations you’ve got here!” 

“ Yes, sir; the squire’s ’mazin’ fond of trees and such 
like.” 

“No wonder. He’s got some real beauties to be fond 
of. Good-day, landlord.” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


23 


“ Good-day, sir, and a pleasant ride to ’e.” 

And now, my boys, you whom I want to get for readers, 
have you had enough? Will you give in at once, and say 
you’re convinced, and let me begin my story, or will you 
have more of it? Remember, I’ve only been over a little 
bit of the hill-side yet — what you could ride round easily 
on your ponies in an hour. I’m only just come down into 
the vale by Blowing Stone Hill, and if I once begin about 
the vale, what’s to stop me? You’ll have to hear all about 
Wantage, the birthplace of Alfred, and Farringdon, which 
held out so long for Charles the First (the vale was near 
Oxford, and dreadfully malignant; full of Throgmortons, 
and Puseys, and Pyes, and such like, and their brawny re- 
tainers). Did you ever read Thomas Ingoldsby’s “ Legend 
of Hamilton Tighe?” If you haven’t, you ought to have. 
Well, Farringdon is where he lived before he went to sea: 
his real name was Hampden Pye, and the Pyes were the 
great folk at Farringdon. Then there’s Pusey. You’ve 
heard of the Pusey horn, which King Canute gave to the 
Puseys of that day, and which the gallant old squire, late- 
ly gone to his rest (whom Berkshire freeholders turned out 
of last Parliament, to their eternal disgrace, for voting ac- 
cording to his conscience), used to bring out on high days 
and holidays and bonfire nights. And the splendid old 
cross church at Uffington, the Uffingas town; how the 
whole country-side teems with Saxon names and memories! 
And the old moated grange at Compton, nestled close un- 
der the hill-side, where twenty Marianas may have lived, 
with its bright water-lilies in the moat, and its yew-walk, 
“ the cloister- walk,” and its peerless terraced gardens. 
There they all are, and twenty things besides, for those 
who care about them, and have eyes. And these are the 
sort of things you may find, I believe, every one of you, in 
any common English country neighborhood. 

Will you look for them under your own noses, or will 
you not? Well, well; I’ve done what I can to make you, 
and if you will go gadding over half Europe now every holi- 
day, I can’t help it. 1 was born and bred a w r est-eountry- 
man, thank God! — a Wessex man, a citizen of the noble 
Saxon Kingdom of Wessex, a regular “ Angular Saxon,” 
die very soul of me “ adseriptus glebe.” There’s nothing 
like the old country-side for me, and no music like the 
twang of the real old Saxon tongue, one gets it fresk 


24 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


from the veritabie chaw in the White Horse Vale; and 1 
say with “ Gaarge Ridler,” the old west-country yeoman: 

“ Throo aal the waarld owld Gaarge would bwoast. 
Commend me to merry owld England mwoast : 

While vools gwoes prating vur and nigh, 

We stwops at whum, my dog and I.” 

Here, at any rate, lived and stopped at home Squire 
Brown, J. P. , for the county of Berks, in a village near 
the foot of the White Horse range. And here he dealt out 
justice and mercy in a rough way, and begat sons and 
daughters, and hunted the fox, and grumbled at the bad- 
ness of the roads and the times. And his wife dealt out 
stockings, and calico shirts, and smock-frocks, and com- 
forting drinks to the old folks with the “ rheumatiz,” and 
good counsel to all; and kept the coal and clothes clubs 
going, for Yule-tide, when the bauds of mummers came 
round, dressed out in ribbons and colored paper caps, and 
stamped round the squire’s kitchen, repeating, in true sing- 
song vernacular, the legend of St. George and his fight, 
and the ten-pound doctor, who plays his part at healing 
the saint — a relic, I believe, of the old middle-age mys- 
teries. It was the first dramatic representation which 
greeted the eyes of little Tom, who was brought down into 
the kitchen by his nurse to witness it, at the mature age of 
three years. Tom was the eldest child of his parents, and 
from his earliest babyhood exhibited the family character- 
istics of great strength. He was a hearty, strong boy 
from the first, given to fighting with and escaping from 
his nurse, and fraternizing with all the village boys, with 
whom he made expeditions all round the neighborhood. 
And here in the quiet, old-fashioned country village, under 
the shadow' of the everlasting hills, Tom Brown was reared, 
and never left it till he went first to school when nearly 
eight years of age — for in those days change of air twice a 
year was not thought absolutely necessary for the health of 
all her majesty’s lieges. 

I have been credibly informed, and am inclined to be- 
lieve, that the various boards of directors of railway com- 
panies, those gigantic jobbers and bribers, w^hile quarreling 
about everything else, agreed together, some ten years 
back, to buy up the learned profession of medicine, body 
and soul. To this end they set apart several millions of 
money, which they continually distribute judiciously among 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


25 


the doctors, stipulating only this one thing, that they shall 
prescribe change of air to every patient who can pay, or 
borrow monev to pay, a railway fare, and see their pre- 
scription carried out. If it be not for this, why is it that 
none of us can be well at home for a year together? It 
wasn’t so twenty years ago— not a bit of it. The Browns 
didn’t go out of the county once in five years. A visit to 
Reading or Abingdon twice a year, at Assizes or Quarter 
Sessions, which the squire made, on his horse with a pair 
of saddle-bags containing his wardrobe — a slay of a day or 
two at some country neighbor’s— or an expedition to a 
county ball, or the yeomanry review — made up the sum of 
the Brown locomotion in most years. A stray Brown 
from some distant county dropped in every now and then; 
or from Oxford, on grave nag, an old don, contemporary 
of the squire; and was looked upon by the Brown house- 
hold and the villagers with the same sort of feeling with 
which we now regard a man who has crossed the Rocky 
Mountains, or launched a boat on the Great Lake in Cen- 
tral Africa. The White Horse Vale, remember, was trav- 
ersed by no great road — nothing but country parish roads, 
and these very bad. Only one coach ran there, and this 
one only from Wantage to London, so that the western 
part of the Vale was without regular means of moving on, 
and certainly didn’t seem to want them. There was the 
canal, by the way, which supplied the country-side with 
coal, and up and down which continually went the long 
barges, with the big black men lounging by the side of the 
horses along the towing-path, and the women in bright- 
colored handkerchiefs standing in the sterns steering. 
Standing, I say, but you could never see whether they were 
standing or sitting, all but their heads and shoulders, being 
out of sight in the cosy little cabins which occupied some 
eight feet of the stern, and which Tom Brown pictured to 
himself as the most desirable of residences. His nurse told 
him that those good-natured-looking women were in the 
constant habit of enticing children into the barges, and 
taking them up to London and selling them, which Tom 
wouldn’t believe, and which made him resolve as soon as 
possible to accept the oft-proffered invitation of these sirens 
to “ voung master,” to come in and have a ride. But as 
yet the nurse was too much for Tom. 

Yet why should I after all abuse the gad-about propensi' 


2G 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


ties of my countrymen? We are a vagabond nation now, 
that’s certain, for better for worse. 1 am a vagabond; 1 
have been away from home no less than five distinct times 
in the last year. The queen sets us I he example— we are 
moving on from top to bottom. Little dirty Jack, who 
abides in Clement’s Inn gate-way, and blacks my boots for 
a penny, takes his month’s hop-picking every year as a 
matter of course. Why shouldn’t lie? I’m delighted at 
it. I love vagabonds, only I prefer poor to rich ones; 
couriers and ladies’-maids, imperials and traveling-carriages 
are an abomination unto me — I can not away with them. 
But for dirty Jack, and every good fellow who, in the 
words of the capital French song, moves about, 

Comme le limayon, 

Portant tout son bagage, 

S«6 meubles, sa maison, 

on his own back, why, good luck to them, and many a 
merry road-side adventure, and steaming supper in the 
chimney-corners of road-side inns, Swiss chalets, Hottentot 
kraals, or wherever else they like to go. So having suc- 
ceeded in contradicting myself in my first chapter (which 
gives me great hopes that you will all go on, and think me 
a good fellow notwithstanding my crotchets), I shall here 
shut up for the present, and consider my ways; having re- 
solved to “ sar’ it out,” as we say in the Vale, “holus- 
bolus,” just as it comes, and then you’ll probably get the 
truth out of me. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE YEAST. 

“And the King commandetli and forbiddeth, that from hence- 
forth neither fairs nor markets be kept in Church-yards, for the 
honor of the Church.” — Statutes: 13 J£dw., Stat. n. cap. vi. 

As that venerable and learned poet (whose voluminous 
works we all think it the correct thing to admire and talk 
about, but don’t read often) most truly says, “ the child is 
father to the man;” a fortiori, therefore he must be fa- 
ther to the boy. So, as we are going at any rate to see 
Tom Brown through his boyhood, supposing we never get 
any further (which, if you show a proper sense of the value 
of this history, there is no knowing but what we may), lej; 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


27 


us have a look at the life and environments of the child, 
in the quiet country village to which we were introduced 
in the last chapter. 

Tom, as has been already said, was a robust and combat- 
ive urchin, and at the age of four began to struggle 
against the yoke and authority of his nurse. That func- 
tionary was a good-hearted, tearful, scatter-brained girl, 
lately taken by Tom’s mother, Mme. Brown, as she was 
called, from the village school to be trained as nursery- 
maid. Mme. Brown was a rare trainer of servants, and 
spent herself freely in the profession; for profession it was, 
and gave her more trouble by half than a good many peo- 
ple take to earn a good income. Her servants were known 
and sought after for miles round. Almost all the girls 
who attained a certain place in the village school wero 
taken by her, one or two at a time, as house-maids, laun- 
dry-maids, nursery-maids, or kitchen-maids, and after a 
year or two’s drilling were started in life among the neigh- 
boring families, with good principles and wardrobes. One 
of the results of this system was the perpetual despair oi 
Mrs. Brown’s cook and own maid, who no sooner had a 
notable girl made to their hands than missus was sure to 
find a good place for her and take her off, taking in fresh 
importations from the school. Another was, that the house 
was always full of young girls with clean shining faces, who 
broke plates and scorched linen, but made an atmosphere 
of cheerful homely life about the place, good for every one 
who came within its influence. Mrs. Brown loved young 
people, and in fact human creatures in general, above 
plates and linen. They were more like a lot of elder chil- 
dren than servants, and felt to her more as a mother or 
aunt than as a mistress. 

Tom’s nurse was one who took in her instruction very 
slowly — she seemed to have two left hands and no head; 
and so Mrs. Brown kept her on longer than usual, that 
she might expend her awkwardness and forgetfulness upon 
those who would not judge and punish her too strictly for 
them. 

Charity Lamb was her name. It had been the im- 
memorial habit of the village to christen children either by 
Bible names or by those of the cardinal and other virtues; 
so that one was forever hearing in the village street, or on 
the green, shrill sounds of “ Prudence! Prudence! thee 


28 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


cum' out o’ the gutter;” or “ Mercy! d’rat the girl, what 
hist thee a-doin’ wP little Faith?” and there were Ruths, 
Rachels, Keziahs in every corner. The same with the 
boys; they were Benjamins, Jacobs, Noahs, Enochs. I 
suppose the custom has come down from Puritan times — 
there it is, at any rate, very strong still in the Vale. 

Well, from early morn till dewy eve, when she had it out 
of him in the cold tub before putting him to bed, Charity 
and Tom were pitted against each other. Physical power 
was as yet on the side of Charity, but she hadn’t a chance 
with him wherever head-work was wanted. This war of 
independence began every morning before breakfast, when 
Charity escorted her charge to a neighboring farm-house 
which supplied the Browns, and where, by his mother’s 
wish, Master Tom went to drink whey before breakfast. 
Tom had no sort of objection to whey, but he had a de- 
cided liking for curds, which were forbidden as unwhole- 
some, and there was seldom a morning that he did not 
manage to secure a handful of hard curds, in defiance of 
Charity and of the farmer’s wife. The latter good soul 
was a gaunt, angular woman, who, with an old black bon- 
net oil the top of her head, the strings dangling about her 
shoulders, and her gown tucked through her pocket-holes, 
went clattering about the dairy, cheese-room, and yard in 
high pattens. Charity was some sort of niece of the old 
lady’s, and was consequently free of the farm-house and 
garden, into which she could not resist going for the pur- 
poses of gossip and flirtation with the heir-apparent, who 
was a dawdling fellow, never out at work as he ought to 
have been. The moment Charity had found her cousin, 
or any other occupation, Tom would slip away; and in a 
minute shrill cries would he heard from the dairy, 
“ Charity! Charity! thee lazy hussy, where bist?” and 
Tom would break cover, hand and mouth full of curds, 
and take refuge on the shaky surface of the great muck 
reservoir in the middle of the yard, disturbing the repose 
of the great pigs. Here he was in safety, as no grown per- 
son could follow without getting over their knees; and the 
luckless Charity, while her aunt scolded her from the 
dairy door, for being “ alius hankering about arter our 
Willum, instead of minding Master Tom,” would descend 
from treats to coaxing, to lure Tom out of the muck, 
which was rising over his shoes; and would soon tell a tale 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 

on his stockings for which she would be sure to catch it 
from missus’s maid. 

Tom had two abettors in the shape of a couple of old 
boys, Noah and Benjamin by name, who defended him 
from Charity, and expended much time upon his educa- 
tion. They were both of them retired servants of former 
generations of the Browns. Noah Crooke was a keen dry 
old man of almost ninety, but still able to totter about. 
He talked to Tom quite as if he were one of his own family, 
and indeed had long completely identified the Browns with 
himself. In some remote age he had been the attendant 
of a Miss Brown, and had conveyed her about the country 
on a pillion. He had a little round picture of the identical 
gray horse, caparisoned with the identical pillion, before 
which he used to do a sort of fetish worship, and abuse 
turnpike roads and carriages. He wore an old full-bot- 
tomed wig, the gift of some dandy old Brown whom he 
had valeted in the middle of last century, which habiliment 
Master Tom looked upon with considerable respect, not to 
say fear; and indeed his whole feeling toward Noah was 
strongly tainted with awe; and when the old gentleman 
was gathered to his fathers, Tom’s lamentation over him 
was not unaccompanied by a certain joy at having seen the 
last of the wig: “ Poor old Noah, dead and gone,” said he, 
“Tom Brown so sorry! Put him in the coffin, wig and 
all.” 

But old Benjy was young master’s real delight and ref- 
uge. He was a youth by the side of Noah, scarce seventy- 
years old. A cheery, humorous, kind-hearted old man, 
full of sixty years of Vale gossip, and of all sorts of helpful 
ways for young and old, but above all for children. It 
was he wko bent the first pin with which Tom extracted 
his first stickleback out of “ Pebbly Brook,” the little 
stream which ran through the village. The first stickle- 
back was a splendid fellow, with fabulous red-and-blue 
gills. Tom kept him in a small basin till the day of his 
death, and became a fisherman from that day. Within a 
month from the taking of the first stickleback Benjy had 
carried off our hero to the canal, in defiance of Charity, 
and between them, after a whole afternoon’s popjoying, 
they had caught three or four small coarse fish and a perch, 
averaging perhaps two and a half ounces each, which Tom 
bore home in rapture to his mother as a precious gift, and 


30 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


she received like a true molher with equal rapture* in- 
structing the cook nevertheless, in a private interview, not 
to prepare the same for the squire’s dinner. Charity had 
appealed against old Benjy in tli* meantime, representing 
the dangers of the canal hanks; but Mrs. Brown, seeing 
the boy’s inaptitude for female guidance, had decided in 
Benjy’s favor, and from thenceforth the old man was 
Tom’s dry nurse. And as they sat by the canal watching 
their little green-and-white float, Benjy would instruct him 
in the doings of deceased Browns. How his grandfather, 
in the early days of the great war when there was much 
distress and crime in the Vale, and the magistrates had 
been threatened by the mob, had ridden in with a big stick 
in his hand, and held the Petty Sessions by himself. How 
his great-uncle, the rector, had encountered and laid the 
last ghost, who had frightened the old women, male and 
female, of the parish out of their senses, and who turned 
out to be the blacksmith’s appentice, disguised in drink 
and a white sheet. It was Benjy too who saddled Tom’s 
first pony and instructed him in the mysteries of horse- 
manship, teaching him to throw his weight back and keep 
his hand low; and who stood chuckling outside the door of 
the girls’ school, when Tom rode his little Shetland into 
the cottage and round the table, where the old dame and 
her pupils were seated at their work. 

Benjy himself was come of a family distinguished in the 
Vale for their prowess in all athletic games. Some half 
dozen of his brothers and kinsmen had gone to the wars, 
of whom only one had survived to come home, with a small 
pension, and three bullets in different parts of his body; he 
had shared Benjy’s cottage till his death, and had left 
him his old dragoon’s sword and pistol, which hung over 
the mantel-piece, flanked by a pair of heavy single-sticks 
with which Benjy himself had won renown long ago as an 
old gamester, against the picked meu of Wiltshire and 
Somersetshire, in mauy a good bout at the revels and pas- 
times of the country-side. For he had been a famous back- 
swordman in his young days, and a good wrestler at the 
elbow and collar. 

Back-swording and wrestling were the most serious hoIT 
day pursuits of the Vale — those by which men attained fame 
— and each village had its champion. I suppose that on 
the whole, people were less worked than they are now; at 


TOM BKOWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


31 


any rate, they seemed to have more time and energy for 
the old pastimes. The great times for back-swording came 
round once a year in each village at the feast. The Yale 
“ yeasts” were not the common statute feasts, but much 
more ancient business. They are literally, as far as one can 
a certain, feasts of the dedication, i. e ., they were first estab- 
lished in the church-yard on the day on which the village 
church was opened for public worship, which was on the 
wake or festival of the patron saint, and have been held on 
the same day in every year since that time. 

There was no longer any remembrance of why the 
“ veast 99 had been instituted, but nevertheless it had a 
pleasant and almost sacred character of its own. For it 
was then that all the children of the village, wherever they 
were scattered, tried to get home for a holiday to visit their 
fathers and mothers and friends, bringing with them their 
wages or some little gift from up the country for the old 
folk. Perhaps for a day or two before, but at any rate, on, 
“ veast day 99 and the day after, in our village, you might 
see strapping healthy young men and women from all 
parts of the country going round from house to house in 
their best clothes, and finishing up with a call on Mine. 
Brown, whom they could consult as to putting out their 
earnings to the best advantage, or how to expend the same 
best for the benefit of the old folk. Every household, how- 
ever poor, managed to raise a “ feast-cake 99 and bottle of 
ginger or raisin wine, which stood on the cottage table 
ready for all comers, and not unlikely to make them re- 
member feast-timd — for feast-cake is very solid, and full 
of huge raisins. Moreover, feast time was the day of rec- 
onciliation for the parish. If Job Higgins and Noah 
Freeman hadn't spoken for the last six months, their “ old 
women ” would be sure to get it patched up by that day. 
And though there was a good deal of drinking and low vice 
in the booths of an evening, it was pretty well confined to 
those who would have been doing the like, “ veast or no 
veast,” and on the whole the effect was humanizing and 
Christian. In fact, the only reason why this is not the case 
still is that gentlefolk and farmers have taken to other 
amusements, and have, as usual, forgotten the poor. They 
don’t attend the feast themselves, and call them disreput- 
able, whereupon the steadiest of the poor leave them also, 
and they become what they are called. Class amusements, be 


$2 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 

they for dukes or plow-boys, always become nuisances and 
curses to a country. The true charm of cricket and hunt- 
ing is, that they are still more or less sociable and universal*, 
there’s a place for every man who will come and take his 
part. 

No one in the village enjoyed the approach of “ veast 
day ” more than Tom, in the year in which he was taken 
under old Benjy’s tutelage. The feast was held in a large 

f reen field at the lower end of the village. The road to 
'arringclon ran along one side of it, and the brook by the 
side of the road, and above the brook was another large 
gentle sloping pasture-land, with a foot-path running down 
it from the church-yard; and the old church, the originator 
of all the mirth, towered up with its gray walls and lancet 
windows, overlooking and sanctioning the whole, though 
its own share therein had been forgotten. At the point 
where the foot-^ath crossed the brook and road, and entered 
on the field where the feast was held, was a long low road- 
side inn, and on the opposite side of the field was a large 
white thatched farm-house, where dwelt an old sporting 
farmer, a great promoter of the revels. 

Past the old church, and down the foot-path, pottered 
the old man and the child hand in hand early on the after- 
’ noon of the day before the feast, and wandered all round the 
ground, which was already being occupied by the “ cheap 
Jacks,” with their green covered carts and marvelous as- 
sortment of wares, and the booths of more legitimate small 
traders with their tempting arrays of fairings and eatables; 
and penny peep-shows and other shows, containing pink- 
eyed ladies, and dwarfs, and boa-constrictors, and wild In- 
dians. But the object of most interest to Benjy, and of 
course to his pupils also, was the stage of rough planks 
some four feet high, which was being put up by the village 
carpenter for back-swording and wrestling; and after sur- 
veying the whole tenderly, old Benjy led his charge away to 
the road-side inn, where he oidered a glass of ale and a 
long pipe for himself, and discussed these unwonted luxuries 
on the bench outside in the soft autumn evening with mine 
host, another old servant of the Browns, and speculated with 
him on the likelihood of a good show of old gamesters to 
contend for the morrow’s prizes, and told tales of gallant 
bouts of forty years back, to which Tom listened with all 
his ears and eyes. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYSr 


33 


Blit who shall tell the joy of the next morning, when the 
church bells were ringing a merry peal, and old Benjy ap- 
peared in the servants’ hall, resplendent in a long blue 
coat and brass buttons, and a pah of old yellow buckskins 
and top-boots, which he had cleaned for and inherited from 
Tom’s grandfather; a stout thorn-stick in his hand, and a 
nosegay of pinks aud lavender in his button-hole, and led 
away Tom in his best clothes, and two new shillings in bis 
breech es-pockets? Those two, at any rate, look like enjoy- 
ing the day’s revel. 

They quicken their pace when they get into the church- 
yard, for already they see the field thronged with country 
folk, the men in clean white smocks or velveteen or fustian 
coats, with rough plush waistcoats of many colors, and tb« 
women in the beautiful long scarlet cloaks, the usual out- 
door dress of west-country women in those days, and 
which often descended in families from mother to daugh* 
ter, or in new fashioned stuff shawls, which, if they would 
but believe it, don’t become them half so well. The air 
resounds with the pipe and tabor, and the drums and trum' 
pets of the showmen shouting at the doors of their caravans, 
over which tremendous pictures of the wonders to be seen 
within hang temptingly; while through all rise the shrill 
“ root-too-too-too ” of Mr. Punch, and the unceasing pan' 
pipe of his satelite. 

“ Lawk a’ massey, Mr. Benjamin,” cries a stout motherly 
woman in a red cloak, as they enter the field, “ be that 
you? Well, 1 never! you do look purely. And how’s the 
squire, and madame, and the family?” 

Benjy graciously shakes hands with the speaker, who has 
left our village for some years, but has come over for “ veast- 
day ” on a visit to an old gossip — and gently indicates the 
heir, apparent of the Browns. 

“Bless his little heart! I must gi’ un a kiss. Here, 
Susannah, Susannah!” cries she, raising herself from the 
embrace, “ oome and see Mr. Benjamin and young Master 
Tom. You minds our Sukey, Mr. Benjamin; she be 
growed a rare slip of a wench since you seen her, tho’ her’ll 
be sixteen come Martinmas. 1 do aim to take her to see 
madame to get her a place.” 

And Sukey comes bouncing away from a knot of old 
school-fellows, and drops a courtesy to Mr. Benjamin. And 
elders come up from all parts to salute Benjy, and girls 
■2 


34 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


who have been madame’s pupils to kiss Master Tom. And 
they carry him off to load him with fairings, and lie returns 
to Benjy, with his hat and coat covered with ribbons, and 
his pockets crammed with wonderful boxes which open 
upon ever new boxes and boxes, and popguns and trumpets, 
and apples, and gilt gingerbread from the stall of Angel 
Heavens, sole vender thereof, whose booths groan with 
kings and queens, and elephants, and prancing steeds, all 
gleaming with gold. There was more gold on Angel’s 
cakes than there is ginger in those of this degenerate age. 
Skilled diggers might yet make a fortune in the church- 
yards of the Vale, by carefully washing the dust of the 
consumers of Angel’s gingerbread. Alas! he is with his 
namesakes, and his receipts have, I fear, died with him. 

And then they inspect the penny peep-show, at least Tom 
does, while old Benjy stands outside and gossips, and walks 
up the steps, and enters t lie mysterious doors of the pink- 
eyed lady and the Irish giant, who do not by any means 
come up to their pictures; and the boa will not swallow his 
rabbit, but there the rabbit is waitingto be swallowed— and 
what can you expect for tuppence? We are easily pleased 
in the Vale. Now there is a rush of the crowd, and a tink- 
ling bell is heard, and shouts of laughter; and Master Tom 
mounts on Benjy’s shoulders and beholds a jingling match 
in all its glory. The games are begun, and this is the 
opening of them. It is a quaint game, immensely amus- 
ing to look at, and as 1 don’t know whether it is used in 
your countries, I had better describe it. A large roped 
ring is made, into which are introduced a dozen or so of 
big boys and young men who mean to play; these are care- 
fully blinded and turned loose into the ring, and then a 
man is introduced not blindfolded, with a bell hung round 
his neck, and his two hands tied behind him. Of course 
avery time he moves the bell must ring, as he has no hand 
to hold it, and so the dozen blindfolded men hare to catch 
him. This they can not always manage if he is a lively 
fellow, but half of them always rush into the arms of the 
other half, or drive their heads together, or tumble over; 
and then the crowd laughs vehemently, and invents nick- 
names for them on the spur of the moment, and they, if 
they be choleric, tear off the handkerchiefs which blind 
them, and not unfrequentlv pitch into one another, each 
thinking that the other mud have run against him on pur* 


YOM BROWNES SCHOOL-J) AYS. 


35 


pose. It is great fan to look at a jingling match certainly, 
ami Tom shouts and jumps on old Benjy’s shoulders at the 
sight, until the old man feels weary, and shifts him to the 
strong young shoulders of the groom, who has just got 
down to the fun. 

And now, while they are climbing the pole in anothei 
part of the field, and muzzling in a flour-tub in another, 
the old farmer, whose house, as has been said, overlooks 
the field, and who is master of the revels, gets up the steps 
on to the stage, and announces to all whom it may concern 
that a half-sovereign in money will be forthcoming for the 
old gamester who breaks most heads: to which the squire 
and he have added a new hat. 

The amount of the prize is sufficient to stimulate the men 
of the immediate neighborhood, but not enough to bring 
any very high talent from a distance; so after a glance or 
two around, a tall fellow, who is a down shepherd, chucks 
his hat on to the stage and climbs up the steps looking 
rather sheepish. The crowd, of course, first cheer, and then 
chaff as usual, as he picks up his hat and begins handling 
the sticks to see which will suit him. 

“ Wooy, Willum Smith, thee cans’ t plaay wi* he arra 
daay,” says his companion to the blacksmith’s apprentice, 
a stout young fellow of nineteen or twenty. Will uin’s sweet 
heart is in the “ veast ” somewhere and has strictly enjoined 
him not to get his head broke at back-swording, on pain of 
the highest displeasure; but as she is not to be seen (the 
women pretend not to like to see the back-sword play, and 
keep away from the stage), and as his hat is decidedly 
getting old, he chucks it on to the stage, and follows him- 
self, hoping that he will only have to break other people’s 
heads, or that after all Rachel won’t really mind. 

Then follows the greasy cap lined with fur of a half- 
gypsy, poaching, loafing fellow, who travels the Yale, not 
for much good, I fancy: 

Full twenty time? was Peter feared 

For once that Peter was respected, 

in fact. And three or four other hats, including the glossy 
castor of Joe Willis, the self-elected and would-be charm 
pion of the neighborhood, a well-to-do young butcher of 
twenty-eight or thereabouts, and a great strapping fellow, 
with his full allowance of bluster. This is a cap 1 tal show of 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


36 

gamesters, considering the amount of the prize; so while 
they are picking their sticks and drawing their lots, I think 
1 must tell you as shortly as I can how the noble old game 
of back-sword is played; for it is sadly gone out of late, 
even in Yale, and may be vou have never seen it. 

The weapon is a good stout ash-stick with a large basket- 
handle, heavier and somewhat shorter than a common single- 
stick. The players are called “ old gamesters ” — why, I 
can’t tell you — and their object is simply to bteak one an- 
other’s heads: for the moment that blood runs an inch any- 
where above the eyebrow the old gamester to whom it be- 
longs is beaten, and has to stop. A very slight blow with 
the stick will fetch blood, so that it is by no means a pun- 
ishing pastime, if the men don’t play on purpose, and sav- 
agely, at the body and arms of their adversaries. The old 
gamester going into action only takes off his hat and coat, 
and arms himself with a stick, he then loops the fingers of 
his left hand in a handkerchief or strap, which he fastens 
round his left leg, measuring the length, so that when he 
draws it tight with his left elbow in the air, that elbow 
shall just reach as high as his crown. Thus you see, so 
long as he chooses to keep his elbow up, regardless of cuts, 
he has a perfect guard for the left side of his head. Then 
he advances his right hand above and in front of his head, 
holding his stick across so that its point projects ail inch or 
two over his left elbow, and thus his whole head is com- 
pletely guarded, and he faces his man armed in the like 
manner, and they stand some three feet apart, often nearer, 
and feint and strike, and return at one another’s heads 
until one cries “ hold,” or blood flows; in the first case they 
are allowed a minute’s time, and go on again; in the latter, 
another pair of gamesters are called on. If good men are 
playing, the quickness of the returns is marvelous; you 
hear the rattle like that a boy makes drawing his stick 
along palings, only heavier, and the closeness of the 
men in action to one another gives it a strange interest and 
makes a spejl at back-swording a very noble sight. 

They are all suited now with sticks, and Joe Willis and 
the gypsy man have drawn the first lot. So the rest lean 
against the rails of the stage, and Joe and the dark man meet 
in the middle, the boards having been strewn with sawdust; 
Joe’s white shirt and spotless drab breeches and boots con- 
trasting with the gypsy’s course blue shirt and dirty green 


TOM SHOWN'* S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


37 


velveteen breeches and leather gaiters. Joe is evidently 
turning up his nose at the other, and half insulted at haw 
ing to break his head. 

The gypsy is a tough active fellow, but not very skillful 
with his weapon, so that Joe’s weight and strength tell in 
a minute; he is too heavy metal for him; whack, whack, 
whack comes his blows, breaking down the gypsy’s guard, 
and threatening to reach his head every moment. There 
it is at last — “Blood, blood!” shout the spectators, as a 
thin stream oozes out slowly from the roots of his hair, 
and the umpire calls them to stop. The gypsy scowls at 
Joe under his brows in a pleasant manner, while Master 
Joe swaggers about, and makes attitudes, and thinks him- 
self, and shows that he thinks himself, the greatest man in 
the field. 

Then follow several stout sets-to between the other can- 
didates for the new hat, and at last come the shepherd and 
Willum Smith. This is the crack set-to of the day. They 
are both in famous wind, and there is no crying 
“ hold;” the shepherd is an old hand and up to all the 
dodges; he tries them one after another, and very nearly 
gets at Will urn’s head by coming in near, and playing over 
his guard at ehe half-stick, but somehow Willum blunders 
through, catching the stick on his shoulders, neck, sides, 
every now and then, anywhere but on his head, and his 
returns are heavy and straight, and he is the youngest 
gamester and a favorite in the parish, and his gallant stand 
brings down the shouts and cheers, and the knowing ones 
think he’ll win if he keeps steady, and Tom, on the groom’s 
shoulder, holds his hands toget her, and can hardly breathe 
for excitement. 

Alas! for Willum! his sweetheart, getting tired of female 
companionship, has been hunting the booths to see where 
he can have got to, and now catches sight of him on the 
stage in full combat. She flushes and turns pale; her old 
aunt catches hold of her saying, “ Bless’ee, child, doan’t 
’ee go ag’inst it;” but she breaks away and runs toward 
the stage, calling his name. Willum keeps up his guard 
stoutly, but glances for a moment toward the voice. No 
guard will do it, Willum, without the eye. The shepherd 
steps round and strikes, and the point of his stick just 
grazes Will urn’s forehead, fetching off the skin, and the 
blood flows, and the umpire cries, “ Hold,” and poor Will- 


38 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


urn’s chance is up for the day. But he takes it yery well, 
and puts on his old hat and coat,, and goes down to be 
scolded by his sweetheart, and led away out of mischief. 
Tom hears him say coaxingly, as he walks off: 

“ Now doon’t ’ee, Rachel! I wouldn’t ha’ done it, only 
I wanted summut to buy ’ee a fairing wi’, and 1 be as 
vlush o’ money as a twod o’ veathers.” 

“ Thee mind what I tells ’ee,” rejoins Rachel, saucily, 
“ and doan’t ’ee kep blethering about fairings.” Tom re- 
solves in his heart to give Will uni the remainder of his two 
shillings after the back-swording, 

Joe Willis has all the luck to-day. His next bout ends 
in an easy victory, while the shepherd has a tough job to 
br^ak his second head; and when Joe and the shepherd 
meet, and the whole circle expect and hope to see him get 
a broken crown, the shepherd slips in the first round and 
falls against the rails, hurting himself so that the old 
farmer will not let him go on, much as he wishes to try; 
aud that impostor Joe, for he is certainly not the best 
man, struts and swaggers about the stage the conquering 
gamester, though he hasn’t had five minutes really trying 
play. 

Joe takes the new hat in his hand, and puts the money 
into it, and then, as if a thought strikes him and he 
doesn’t think his victory quite acknowledged down below, 
walks to each face of the stage, and looks down, shaking 
*he money, and chaffing, as how he’ll stake hat and money 
aud another half sovereign “ agin any gamester as hasn’t 
played already.” Cunning Joe! he thus gets rid of Will- 
urn and the shepherd, who is quite fresh again. 

No one seems to like the offer, and the umpire is just 
coming down, when a queer old hat, something like a doc- 
tor of divinity’s shovel, is chucked on to the stage, and an 
elderly quiet man steps out, who has been watching the 
play, saying he should like to cross a stick wi’ the prodi- 
gal ish young chap. 

The crowd cheer and begin to chaff Joe, who turns up 
his nose and swaggers across to the sticks. 44 Jmp’dent old 
wosbird!” says he. “ I’ll break the bald head on un to 
the truth.” 

The old boy is very bald certainly, and the blood will 
show fast enough if you can touch him, Joe. 

He takes off his long flapped coat, and stands up in a 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


39 


long flapped waistcoat, which Sir Roger de Coverley might 
have worn when it was new, picks out a stick, and is ready 
for Master Joe, who loses no time, but begins his old 
game, whack, whack, whack, trying to break down the old 
man’s guard by sheer strength. But it won’t do— he 
catches every blow close by the basket, and though he is 
rather stiff in his returns, after a minute walks Joe about 
the stage, and is clearly a stanch old gamester. Joe now 
comes in, and making the most of his height, tries to get 
over the old mail’s guard at half-stick, by which he takes 
a smart blow in the ribs and another on the elbow and 
nothing more. And now he loses wind and begins to puff, 
and the crowd laugh: “ Cry ‘ hold,’ Joe— thee’st met thy 
match!” Instead of taking good advice and getting his 
wind, Joe loses his temper, and strikes at the old man’s 
body. 

“Blood, blood!” shout the crowd, “Joe's head's 
broke!” 

Who’d have thought it? How did it come? That 
body-blow left Joe’s head unguarded for a moment, and 
with one turn of the wrist the old gentleman has picked a 
neat little bit of skin off the middle of his forehead, and 
though he won’t believe it, and hammers on for three 
more blows despite of the shouts, is then convinced by the 
blood trickling into his eye. Poor Joe is sadly crest-fallen, 
and fumbles in his pocket for the other half sovereign, but 
the old gamester won’t have it. 

“ Keep thy money, man, and gi’s thy hand,” says he, 
and they shake hands; but the old gamester gives the new 
hat to the shepherd, and, soon after, the half sovereign to 
W ilium, who thereout decorates his sweetheart with rib- 
bons to his heart’s content. 

“ Who can a be?” “Wur do a cum from?” ask the 
crowd. 

And it soon flies about that the old west-country cham- 
pion, who played a tie with Shaw the Life-guardsman at 
“Yizes” twenty years before, has broken Joe Willis’s 
crown for him. 

How my country fair is spinning out! I see I must skip 
the wrestling, and the boys jumping in sacks, and rolling 
wheelbarrows blindfolded’; and the. donkey-race, and the 
fight which arose thereout, marring the otherwise peaceful 
“ veast;” and the frightened scurrying away of the female 


40 


TOM BKOWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


feast-goers, and descent of Squire Brown summoned by the 
wife of one of the combatants to stop it, which he wouldn’t 
b-tart to do till he had got on his top-boots. Tom is carried 
away by old Ben jy, dog-tired and surfeited with pleasure, 
vAS the evening comes on and the dancing begins in the 
booths; and though Willum and Rachel in her new rib- 
bons and many another good lad and lass don’t come away 
Just yet, but have a good step out, and enjoy it, and get 
no harm thereby, yet we, being sober folk, will just stroll 
away up through the church-yard, and by the old yew- 
tree; and get a quiet dish of tea and a parle with our gos- 
sips, as the steady ones of our village do, and so to bed. 

That’s the fair, true sketch, as far as it goes, of one of 
the larger village feasts in the Yale of Berks when I was a 
little boy. They are much altered for the worst, I am told. 
I haven’t been at one these twenty years, but 1 have been 
at the statute fairs in some west-country towns, where serv- 
ants are hired, and greater abominations can not be found. 
What village feasts have come to, I fear, in many cases, 
may be read in the pages of Yeast, though I never saw 
one so bad — thank God! 

Bo you want to know why? It is because, as I said be- 
fore, gentlefolk and farmers have left off joining or taking 
an interest in them. They don’t either subscribe to the 
prizes, or go down and enjoy the fun. 

Is this a good or a bad sign? 1 hardly know. Bad, sure 
enough, if it only arises from the further separation of 
classes consequent on twenty years of buying cheap and 
selling dear, and its accompanying overwork; or because 
our sons and daughters have their hearts in London club- 
life, or so-called society, instead of in the old English home 
duties; because farmers’ sons are aping fine gentlemen, 
and farmers’ daughters caring more to make bad foreign 
music than good English cheeses. Good, perhaps, if it be 
that the time for the old “ veast ” has gone by, that it is 
no longer the healthy sound expression of English country 
holiday-making; that, in fact, we as a nation have got be- 
yond it, and are in a transition state, feeling for and soon 
likely to find some better substitute. 

Only I have just got this to say before I quit the text. 
Don’t let reformers of any sort think that they are going 
really to lay hold of the working-boys and young men 
of England by any educational grapnel whatever which 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


41 


hasn’t some 'bona-fide equivalent for the games of the old 
country “ veast ” in it; something to put in the place of 
the back-swording and wrestling and racing; something to 
try the muscles of men’s bodies, and the endurance of their 
hearts, and to make them rejoice in their strength. In all 
the new-fangled comprehensive plans which I see, this is 
all left out; and the consequence is, that your great 
Mechanics’ Institutes end in intellectual prigism, and 
your Christian Young Men’s Societies in religious Pharisa- 
ism. 

Well, well, we must bide our time. Life isn’t all beer 
and skittles— but beer and skittles, or something better 
of the same sort, must form a good part of every English- 
man’s education. If 1 could only drive this into the 
heads of you rising parliamentary lords, and young swells 
who “ have your ways made for you,” as the saying is — 
you, who frequent palaver-houses and West End clubs, 
waiting always ready to strap yourselves on to the back of 
poor, dear did John, as soon as the present used-up lot, 
your fathers and uncles, who sit there on the great parlia- 
mentary-majorities’ pack-saddle, and make believe they’re 
guiding him with their red-tape bridle, tumble, or have .to 
be lifted off! 

1 don’t think much of you yet— 1 wish l could; though 
you do go talking and lecturing up and down the country 
to crowded audiences, and are busy with all sorts of philan- 
thropic intellectualism, and circulating libraries and muse- 
ums, and Heaven only knows what besides; and try to 
make us think, through newspaper reports, that you are 
even as we, of the working classes. But, bless your hearts, 
we “ ain’t so green,” though lots of us of all sorts toady 
you enough certainly, and try to make you think so. 

I’ll tell you what to do now; instead of all this trumpet- 
ing and fuss, which is only the old parliamentary-majority 
dodge over again— just you go each of you (you’ve plenty 
of time for it, if you’ll only give up t’other line) and 
quietly make three or four friends, real friends, among us. 
You’ll find a little trouble in getting at the right sort 
because such birds don’t come lightly to your lure— but 
found they may be. Take, say, two out of the professions, 
lawyer, parson, doctor — which you will; one out of trade* 
and three or four out of the working classes — tailors, en- 
gineers, carpenters, engravers— there ’§ plenty of choice- 


42 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


Let them be men of your own ages, mind, and ask them 
to your homes; introduce them to your wives and sisters, 
and get introduced to theirs; give them go.d dinners, and 
talk to them about what is really at the bottom of your 
heart, and box, and run, and row with them, when you 
have a chance. Do all this honestly as man to man, and 
by the time you come to ride old John, you’ll be able to 
do something more than sit on his back, and may feel his 
mouth with some stronger bridle than a red-tape one. 

Ah, if you only would! But you have got too far out of 
the right rut, I fear. Too much overcivilizatiou and the 
deceitfulness of richness. It is easier for a camel to go 
through the eye of a needle. More’s the pity. I never 
came across but two men of you who could value a man 
wholely and solely for what was in him; who thought 
themselves verily and indeed of the same flesh and blood 
a3 John Jones, the attorney’s clerk, and Bill Smith, the 
costermonger, and could act as if they thought so. 


CHAPTER III. 

SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES. 

Poor old Benjy! the “ rheumatiz 99 has much to answer 
for all through English country-sides, but it never played 
a scurvier trick than in laying thee by the heels, when thou 
wast yet in a green old age. The enemy, which had long 
been carrying on a sort of border warfare, and trying his 
strength against Benjv’s on the battle-field, of his hands 
and legs, now mustering all his forces, began laying siege 
to the citadel, and overrunning the whole country. Benjy 
was seized in the back and loins; and though he made strong 
and brave fight, it was soon clear enough that all which 
could be beaten of poor old Benjy would have to give in 
before long. 

It was as much as he could do now, with the help of his 
big stick and frequent stops, to hobble down to the canal 
with Master Tom, and bait his hook for him, and sit and 
watch his angling, telling him quaint old country stories; 
and when Tom had no sport, and, detecting a rat some 
hundred yards or so off along (he bank, would rush off 
with Toby the turnspit terrier, his other faithful compan- 
ion, in bootless pursuit, he might have tumbled in and 


tom brown’s school-days. 43 

been drowned twenty times over before Beujy could have 
got near him. 

Cheery and unmindful of himself as Benjy was, this loss 
of locomotive power bothered him greatly. He had got a 
new object in his old age, and was just beginning to think 
himself useful again in the world. He feared much too 
lest Master Tom should fall back again into the hands of 
Charity and the women. So he tried everything he could 
think of to get set up. He even went an expedition to the 
dwelling of one of those queer mortals, who — say what we 
will, and reason how we will — do cure simple people of 
diseases of one kind or another without the aid of physic; 
and so get to themselves the reputation of using charms, 
and inspire for themselves and their dwellings great respect, 
not to say fear, among a simple folk such as the dwellers 
in the vale of White Horse. Where this power, or what- 
ever else it may be, descends upon the shoulders of a man 
whose ways are not straight, he becomes a nuisance to the 
neighborhood: a receiver of stolen goods, giver of love- 
potions, and deceiver of silly women; the avowed enemy of 
Jaw and order, of justices of the peace, head-boroughs, 
and gamekeepers. Such a man, in fact, as was recently 
taught tripping, and deservedly dealt with by the Leeds 
justices, for seducing a girl who had come to him to get 
back a faithless lover, and has been convicted of bigamy 
since then. Sometimes, however, they are of quite a differ- 
ent stamp, men who pretend to nothing, and are with 
difficulty persuaded to exercise their occult arts in the sim- 
plest cases. 

Of this latter sort was old Farmer Ives, as he was called, 
the “ wise man 99 to whom Benjy resorted (taking Tom 
with him as usual) in the early spring of the year next after 
the feast described in the last chapter. Why he was called 
u farmer 99 1 can not say, unless it be that he was the owner 
of a cow, a pig or two, and some poultry, which he main- 
tained on about an acre of land inclosed from the middle of 
a wild common, on which probably his father had squatted 
before lords of manors looked as keenly after their rights 
as they do now. Here he had lived no one knew how long, 
a solitary man. It was often rumored that he was to be 
turned out and his cottage pulled down, but somehow it 
never came to pass; and his pigs and cow went grazing on 
the common, and his geese hissed at the passing children 


u 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


and at the heels of the horse of my lord’s steward, who 
often rode by with a covetous eye on the inclosure, still un- 
molested. His dwelling was some miles from our village; 
so Benjy, who was half ashamed of his errand, and wholly 
unable to walk there, had to exercise much ingenuity to 
get the means of transporting himself and Tom thither 
without exciting suspicion. However, one fine May morn- 
ing he managed to borrow the old blind pony of our friend 
the publican, and Tom persuaded Mine. Brown to give him 
a holiday to spend with old Benjy, and to lend them the 
squire’s light cart, stored with biead and cold meat and a 
bottle of ale. And so the two in high glee started behind 
old Dobbin, and jogged along the deep-rutted plashy roads, 
which had not been mended after their winter’s wear, to- 
ward the dwelling of the wizard. About noon they passed 
the gate which opened on to the large common, and old 
Dobbin toiled slowly up the hill, while Benjy pointed out a 
little deep dingle on the left, out of which welled a tiny 
stream. As they crept up the hill the tops of a few birch- 
trees came in sight, and blue smoke curling up through 
their delicate light boughs; and then the little white 
thatched home and patch of inclosed ground of Farmer 
Ives, lying cradled in the dingle, with the gay gorse com- 
mon rising behind and on both sides; while in front, after 
traversing a gentle slope, the eye might travel for miles and 
miles over the rich vale. They now left the main road and 
struck into a green track over the common marked lightly 
with the wheel and horse-shoe, which led down into the 
dingle and stopped at the rough gate of Parmer Ives. 
Here they found the farmer, an iron-gray old man, with a 
bushy eyebrow and strong aquiline nose, busied in one of 
his vocations. He was a horse and cow doctor, and was 
tending a sick beast which had been sent up to be cured. 
Benjy hailed him as an old friend, and he returned the 
greeting cordially enough, looking, however, hard for a 
moment both at Benjy and Tom, to see whether there was 
more in their visit than appeared at first sight. It was a 
work of some difficulty and danger for Benjy to reach (he 
ground, which, however, he managed to do without mishap, 
and then he devoted himself to unharnessing Dobbin, and 
turning him out for a graze (“ a run ” one could not say 
of that virtuous steed) on the common. This done, he ex- 
treated the cold provisions from the cart, and they entered 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


45 


the farmer’s wicket; and be, shutting up the knife with 
which he was taking maggots out of the cow’s back and 
sides, accompanied them toward the cottage. A big old 
lurcher got up slowly from the door-stone, stretching first 
one hind leg and then the other, and taking Tom’s caresses 
and the presence of Toby, who kept, however, at a respect- 
ful distance, with equal indifference. 

44 Us be cum to pay ’e a visit. I’ve been a long minded 
to do’t for old sake’s sake, only I vinds dwont get about 
now as I’d use to’t. I be so plaguy bad wi’ th’ rumatiz in 
my back.” Benjy paused, in hopes of drawing the farmer 
at once on the subject of his ailment without further direct 
application. 

“ Ah, 1 see as you bean’t quite so lissom as you was,” 
replied the farmer with a grim smile, as he lifted the latch 
of his door; “ we bean’t so young as we was, nother on us, 
wuss luck.” 

The farmer’s cottage was very like those of the better 
class of peasantry in general. A snug chimney corner with 
two seats, and a small carpet on the hearth, an old flint 
gun and a pair of spurs over the fire-place, a dresser with 
shelves on which some bright pewter plates and crockery- 
ware were arranged, an old walnut table, a few chairs and 
settles, some framed samplers, and an old print or two, 
and a book-case with some dozen volumes on the walls, a 
rack with flitches of bacon, and other stores fastened to the 
ceiling, and you have the best part of the furniture. No 
sign of occult art is to be seen, unless the bundles of dried 
herbs hanging to the rack and in the ingle, and the row of 
labeled vials on one of the shelves, betoken it. 

Tom played about with some kittens who occupied the 
hearth, and with a goat who walked demurely in at the 
open door, while their host and Benjy spread the table for 
dinner — and was soon engaged in conflict with the cold 
meat, to which he did much honor. The two old men’s 
talk was of old comrades and their deeds, mute, inglorious 
Miltons of the Vale, and of the doings thirty years back — 
which didn’t interest him much, except when they spoke 
of the making of the canal, and then indeed he began to 
listen with all his ears, and learned to his no small wonder 
that his dear and wonderful canal had not been there al* 
ways — was not in fact so old as Benjy or Farmer Ives, which 
caused a strange commotion in his small brain. 


46 


TOM i^o^n's SCHOOL-RATS. 


After dinner Benjy called attention to a wart which Toni 
had on the knuckle of his hand, and which the family 
doctor had been trying his skill on without success, and 
begged the fanner Lo charm it way. Farmer Ives looked 
at it, muttered something or another over it, and cut some 
notches in a short stick, which he handed to Benjy, giving 
him instructions for cutting it down on certain days, and 
cautioning Tom not to meddle with the wart for a fort- 
night. And then they strolled out and sat on a bench in 
the sun with their pipes, and the pigs came up and grunted 
sociably and let Tom scratch them; and the farmer, see- 
ing how he like animals, stood up and held his arms iu the 
air and gave a call, which brought a flock of pigeons wheel- 
ing aid dashing through the birch-trees. They settled 
down in clusters on the farmer’s arms and shoulders, mak- 
ing love to him and scrambling over each other’s back to 
get to his face; and then he threw them all off, and they 
fluttered about close by, and lighted on him again and 
again when he held up his arms. All the creatures about 
the place were clean and fearless, quite unlike their rela- 
tions elsewhere; and Tom begged to be taught how to make 
all the pigs and cows and poultry in our village tame, at 
which the farmer only gave one of his grim chuckles. 

It wasn’t till they were just ready to go and old Dobbin 
was harnessed that Benjy broached the subject of his rheu- 
matism again, detailing his symptoms one by one. Poor 
old boy! He Imped the farmer could charm it away as 
easily as he could Tom’s wart, and was ready with equal 
faith to put another notched stick into his pocket, for the 
cure of his own ailment. The physician shook his h p ad, 
hut nevertheless produced a bottle and handed it to Benjy 
with instructions for use. 

“Not as ’t’ll do ’e much good— Fast ways I he afeard 
not,” shading his eyes with his hand and looking up at 
them in the cart: “ there’s only one thing as I knows on 
as’ll cure old folks like you and 1 o’ th’ rumatiz.” 

“ Wot be that then, farmer?” inquired Benjy. 

“ Church-yard mold,” said the old iron-gra* r man, with 
another chuckle. 

And so' they said their good-byes and went their ways 
home. Tom’s wart was gone in a fortnight, but not so 
Benjy’s rheumatism, which laid him by the heels more and 
more. And though Tom still spent many an hour with 


TOM brown’s SCHOOL-t>AY&. 


4 * 


him, as he sat on a bench in (lie sunshine, or by the chim- 
ney corner when it was coU, he soon had to seek elsewhere 
for his regular companions. 

Tom had been accustomed often to accompany his 
mother in her visits to the cottages, and had thereby made 
acquaintance with many of the village boys of his own age 
There was Job Rudkin, son of Widow Rudkin, the mos v 
bustling woman in the parish. How she could ever have 
had such a stolid boy as Job for a child must always re- 
main a mystery. The first time Tom went to their cottage 
with his mother Job was not in-doors, but he entered soon 
after, and stood with both hands in his pockets staring at 
Tom. Widow Rudkin, who would have had to cross ma- 
dame to get at young Hopeful — a breach of good manners 
of which she was wholly incapable — began a series of panto- 
mime signs, which only puzzled him, and at last, unable 
to contain herself longer, burst out with: 

“ Job! Job! where's thy cap?” 

“ W r hat! bean't 'e on ma 1 head, mother?” replied Job, 
slowly extricating one hand from a pocket and feeling for 
the article in question: which he found on his head sure 
enough, and left there, to his mother's horror and Tom's 
great delight. 

Then there was poor Jacob Dodson, the half-witted boy, 
who ambled about cheerfully, undertaking messages and 
little helpful odds and ends for every one, which, however, 
poor Jacob managed always hopelessly to embrangle. 
Everything came to pieces in his hands, and nothing would 
stop in his head. They nicknamed him Jacob Doodle-calf. 

But above all there was Harry VVinburn, the quickest 
and best boy in the parish. He might be a year older than 
Tom, but was very little bigger, and he was the Crichton 
of our village boys. He could wrestle and climb and run 
better than all the rest, and learned a 1 1 that the school-mas- 
ter could teach him faster than that worthy at all liked. 
He was a boy to be proud of, with his curly brown hair, 
keen gray eye, straight active figure, and little ears and 
hands and feet, “ as fine as a lord's,” as Charity remarked 
to Tom one day, talking, as usual, great nonsense. Lord’s 
hands and ears and feet are just as ugly as other folks' 
when they are children, as any one may convince them- 
selves if they like to look. Tight boots and gloves, and 


4S 


TOM BROWN*S SCHOOL-PAYS. 


doicg nothing with them, I allow make a difference by the 
time they are twenty. 

Now that Benjy was laid on the shelf, and his young 
brothers were still under petticoat government, Tom, in 
search of companions, began to cultivate the village boys 
generally more and more. Squire Brown, be it said, was a 
true blue Tory to the backbone, and believed honestly that 
the powers which be were ordained of God, and that loy- 
alty and steadfast obedience were men’s first duties. 
Whether it were in consequence or in spite of his political 
creed I do not mean to give an opinion, though I have one; 
but certain it is, that he held therewith divers social princi- 
pals not generally supposed to be true blue in color. Fore- 
most of these, and the one which the squire loved to pro- 
pound above all others, was the belief that a man is to be 
valued wholly and solely for that which he is in himself, 
for that which stands up in the four fleshly walls of him, 
apart from clothes, rank, fortune, and all externals what- 
soever. Which belief 1 take to be a wholesome corrective 
of all political opinions, and, if held sincerely, to make all 
opinions equally harmless, whether they be blue, red, or 
green. As a necessary corollary to this belief. Squire 
Brown held further that it didn’t matter a straw whether 
his son associated with lords’ sons or plowmen’s sons, pro- 
vided they were brave and honest. He himself had played 
football and gone birds’-nesting with the farmers whom he 
met at vestry and the laborers who tilled their fields, and 
so had his father and grandfather with their progenitors. So 
he encouraged Tom in his intimacy with the boys of the vil- 
lage, and forwarded by all means in his power, and gave 
them the run of a close for a play-ground, and provided 
bats and balls and a football for their sports. 

Our village was blessed among other things with a well- 
endowed' school. The building stood by itself, apart from 
the master’s house, on an angle of ground where three 
roads met; an old gray stone building with a steep roof 
and mullioned windows. On one of the opposite angles 
stood Squire Brown’s stables and kennels, with their backs 
to the road, over which towered a great elm-tree; on the 
third stood the village carpenter’s and wheelwright’s large 
open shop, and his bouse and the school-master’s with long 
low eaves under which the swallows built by scores. 

The moment Tom’s lessons were over he would now get 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL- PAYS. 49 

him down to this corner by the stables* and watch till the 
boys came out of school. He prevailed on the groom to 
cut notches for him in the bark of the elm, so that he 
could climb into the lower branches, and there he would 
sit watching the school door, and speculating on the possi- 
bility of turning the elm into a dwelling-place for himself 
and friends after the manner of the Swiss Family Robin- 
son. But the school hours were long and Tom’s patience 
short, so that soon he began to descend into the street, and 
go and peep in at the school door and the wheelwright’s 
shop, and look out for something to while away the time. 
Now the wheelwright was a choleric man, and, one fine 
afternoon, returning from a short absence, found Tom oc- 
cupied with one of his pet adzes, the edge of which was 
fast vanishing under our hero’s care. A speedy flight 
saved Tom from all' but one sound cuff on the ears, but he 
resented this unjustifiable interruption of his first essays 
at carpentering, and still more the further proceedings of 
the wheelwright, who cut a switch and hung it over the 
door of his workshop, threatening to use it upon Tom if 
he came within twenty yards of his gate. So Tom, to re- 
taliate, commenced a war upon the swallows who dwelt 
under the wheel wright’s eaves, whom Le harassed with 
sticks and stones, and b dug fleeter of foot than his enemy, 
escaped all punishment and kept him in perpetual anger. 
Moreover, his presence about the school door began to incense 
the master, as the boys in that neighborhood neglected 
their lessons in consequence; and morfe than once he issued 
into the porch, rod in hand, just as Tom beat a hasty re- 
treat. And he and the wheelwright, laying their heads to- 
gether, resolved to acquaint the squire with Tom’s afternoon 
occupations; but, in order to do it with effect, determined 
to fake him captive and lead him away to judgment fresh 
from his evil doings. This they would have found some 
difficulty in doing, had Tom continued the war single- 
handed, or rather single-footed, for he would have taken to 
the deepest part of Pebbly Brook to escape them; but, 
like other active powers, he was ruined by his alliances. 
Poor Jacob Doodle-calf could not go to school with the other 
boys, and one fine afternooi ibout three o’clock (the school 
broke up at four), Tom found him ambling about the 
street, and pressed him into a visit to the school porch. 
Jacob, always ready to do what he was asked, consented, 


50 tom brown's school-days. 

and the two stole down to the school together. Tom first 
reconnoitered the wheelwright's shop, and seeing no signs 
of activity, thought all safe in that quarter, and ordered 
at once an advance of all his troops upon the school 
porch. The door of the school was ajar, and the boys 
seated on the nearest bench at once recognized and opened 
a correspondence with the invaders. Tom, waxing bold, 
kept putting his head into the school and making faces at 
the master when his back was turned. Poor Jacob, not; 
in the least comprehending the situation, and in high glee 
at finding himself so near the school, which he had never 
been allowed to enter, suddenly, in a fit of enthusiasm, 
pushed by Tom, and ambling three steps into the school, 
stood there, looking round him, and uodding with a self- 
approving smile. The master, who was stooping over a 
boy's slate, with his back to the door, became aware of 
something unusual, and turned quickly round. Tom 
rushed at Jacob, and began dragging him back by his 
smock-frock, and the master made at them, scattering 
forms and boys in his career. Even now they might have 
escaped, but that in the porch, barring retreat, appeared 
the crafty wheelwright, who had been watching all their 
proceedings. So they were seized, the school dismissed, 
and Tom and Jacob led away to Squire Brown as lawful 
prize, the boys following to the gate in groups, and specu- 
!ating on the result. 

The squire was very angry at first, but the interview, 
by Tom's pleading, ended in a compromise. Tom was 
not to go near the school till three o'clock, and only then 
if he had done his own lessons well, in which case he 
was to be the bearer of a note to the master from Squire 
Brown, and the master agreed in such case to release ten 
or twelve of the best boys an hour before the time for 
breaking up, to go off and play in the close. The wheel- 
wright's adzes and swallows were to be forever respect- 
ed; and that hero and the master withdrew to the servants' 
hall, to drink the squire's health, well satisfied with their 
day's work. 

The second act of Tom's lif ^ may now be said to have 
begun. The war of independence had been over for some 
time; none of the women now, not even his mother's maid, 
dared offer to help him in dressing or washing. Between 
ourselves, he had often at first to run to Benjy in an un- 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


h\ 

finished state of toilet; Charity and the rest of them seemed 
to take a delight in putting impossible buttons and ties in 
the middle of his back, but he would have gone without 
nether integuments altogether sooner than have had re- 
course to female valeting. He had a room to himself, and 
his father gave him sixpence a week pocket-money. AH 
this he had achieved by Benjy’s advice and assistance. But 
now he had conquered another step in life, the step which 
all real boys so long to make; he had got among his equals 
in age and strength, and could measure himself with other 
boys; he lived with those whose pursuits and wishes and 
ways were the same in kind as his own. 

The little governess who had lately been installed in the 
house found her work grow wondrously easy, for Tom 
slaved at his lessons in order to make sure of his note to 
the school-master. So there were very few days in the 
week in which Tom and the village boys were not playing 
in their close by three o’clock. Prisoner’s base, rounders, 
high-eock-a-lorum, cricket, football; he was soon initiated 
into the delights of them all; and though most of the 
boys were older than himself, he managed to hold his 
own very well. He was naturally active and strong, and 
quick of eye and hand, and had the advantage of light 
shoes and well-fitting dress, so that in a short time he could 
run and jump and climb with any of them. 

They generally finished their regular games half an hour 
or so before tea-time, and then began trials of skill and 
strength in many ways. Some of them would catch the 
Shetland pony who was turned out in the field, and get two 
or three together on his back, and the little rogue, enjoy- 
ing the fun, would gallop off for fifty yards, and then 
turn round, or stop short and shoot them on to the turf, 
and then graze quietly on till he felt another load; others 
played peg-top or marbles, while a few of the bigger ones 
stood up for a bout at wrestling. Tom at first only looked 
on at this pastime, but it had peculiar attractions for him, 
and he could not long keep out of it. Elbovv-and collar 
wrestling as practiced in the western counties was, next to 
back-swording, the way to fame for the youth of the Vale; 
and all the boys knew the rules of it, and were more or 
less expert. But Job Rudk : n and Harry Winburn were 
the stars, the former stiff anu sturdy, with legs like small 
cowers, the latter pliant as India-rubber, and quick as 


52 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


lightning. Day after day they stood foot to foot, and 
offered first one hand and then the other, and grappled 
and closed and swayed and strained, till a well -aimed 
crook of the heel. or thrust of the loin took effect, and a 
fair back-fall ended the matter. And Tom watched with 
all his eyes, and first challenged one of the less scientific, 
and threw him; and so one by one wrestled his way up to 
the leaders. 

Then indeed for months he had a poor time of it; it 
was not long indeed before he could manage to keep his 
legs against Job, for that hero was slow of offense, and 
gained his victories chiefly by allowing others to throw 
themselves against his immovable legs and loins. But 
Harry Winburn was undeniably his master; from the first 
clutch of hands when they stood up, down to the last trip 
which sent him on his back on the turf, he felt that 
Harry knew more and could do more than he. Luckily, 
Harry’s bright unconsciousness, and Tom’s natural good 
temper kept them from ever quarreling; and so Tom 
worked on and on, and trod more and more nearly on 
Harry’s heels, and at last mastered all the dodges and 
falls except one. This one was Harry’s own particular 
invention and pet; he scarcely ever used it except when 
hard pressed, but then out it came, and as sure as it did, 
over went poor Tom. He thought about that fall at his 
meals, in his walks, when he lay awake in bed, in his 
dreams— but all to no purpose; until Harry one day in his 
open way suggested to him how he thought it should be 
met, and in a week from that time the boys were equal, 
save only the slight difference of strength in Harry’s 
favor which some extra ten months of age gave. Tom had 
often afterward reason to be thankful for that early drill- 
ing, and above all for liaviug mastered Harry Winburn’s 
fall. 

Besides their home games, on Saturdays the boys would 
wander all over the neighborhood; sometimes to the downs, 
or up to the camp, where they cut their initials out in the 
springy turf, and watched the hawks soaring, and the 
“ peert ” bird, as Harry Winburn called the gray plover, 
gorgeous in his wedding feathers; and so home, racing 
down the Manger with many a roll among the thistles, or 
through Uffington wood to watch the fox cubs playing in 
the green rides; sometimes to Rosy Brook, to cut long 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


53 


whispering reeds which grew there to make pan-pipes of; 
sometimes to Moor Mills, where was a piece of old forest 
land, with short browsed turf and tufted brambly thick- 
ets stretching under the oaks, among which rumor declared 
that a raven, last of his race, still lingered; or to the sand- 
hills in vain quest of rabbits; and birds’-nesting, in the 
season, anywhere and everywhere. 

The few neighbors of the squire’s own rank every now 
and then would shrug their shoulders as they drove or rode 
by a party of boys with Tom in the middle, carrying along 
bulrushes or whispering reeds, or great bundles of cowslip 
and meadow-sweet, or young starlings or magpies, or other 
spoil of wood, brook, or meadow; and Lawyer Red-tape 
might mutter to Squire Straightback at the Board that no 
good would come of the young Browns, if they were let 
run wild with all the dirty village boys, whom the best 
farmers’ sons even would not play with. And the squire 
might reply with a shake of his head that his sons only 
mixed with their equals, and never went into the village 
without the governess or a footman. But, luckily. Squire 
Brown was full as stiff-backed as his neighbors, and so 
went on his own way; and Tom and his younger brothers, 
as they grew up, went on playing with the village boys, 
without the idea of equality or inequality, except in wrest- 
ling, running, and climbing, ever entering their heads, as 
it doesn’t till it’s put there by Jack Nastys or fine ladies’- 
maids. 

1 don’t mean to say it would be the case in all villages, 
but it certainly was so in this one; the village boys were 
full as manly and honest, and certainly purer than those in 
a higher rank; and Tom got more harm from his equals in 
his first fortnight at a private school, wliese he went when 
he was nfne years old, than he had from his village friends 
from the day he left Charity’s apron-strings. 

Great was the grief, among the village school-boys when 
Tom drove off with the squire, one August morning, to 
meet the coach on his way to school. Each of them had 
given him some little present of the best that he had, and 
his small private box was full of peg-tops, white marbles 
(called “alley-taws” in the Vale), screws, birds’-eggs, 
whip-cords, jew’s-harps, and other miscellaneous boys’ 
wealth. Poor Jacob Doodle-calf, m floods of tears, had 
pressed upon him with spluttering earnestness his latne pel 


54 TOM brown’s school-days. 

hedge-hog (he had always some poor broken-down beast or 
bird by him); but this Tom had been obliged to refuse by 
the squire’s order. He had given them all a great tea un- 
der the big elm in their play-ground, for which Mine. 
Brown had supplied the biggest cake ever seen in our vil- 
lage; and Tom was really as sorry to leave them as they to 
lose him, but his sorrow was not unmixed with the pride 
and excitement of making a new step in life. 

And this feeling carried him through his first parting 
with his mother better than could have been expected. 
Their love was as fair and whole as human love can be, 
perfect self-sacrifice on the one side meeting a young and 
true heart on the other. It is not within the scope of my 
book, however, to speak of family relations, or 1 should 
have much to say on the subject of English mothers — ay, 
and of English fathers, and sisters, and brothers too. 

Neither have I room to speak of our private schools; 
what I have to say is about public schools, those much- 
abused and much-belauded institutions peculiar to Eng- 
land. So we must hurry through Master Tom’s year at a 
private school as fast as we can. 

It was a fair average specimen, kept by a gentleman, 
with another gentleman as second master; but it was little 
enough of the real work they did — merely coming into 
school when lessons were prepared and all ready to be 
heard. The whole discipline of the school out of lesson 
hours was in the hands of the two ushers, one of whom was 
always with the boys in their play-ground, in the school, at 
meals— -in fact, at all times and everywhere, till they were 
fairly in bed at night. 

Now the theory of private schools is, or was, constant 
supervision out of school; therein differing fundamentally 
from that of public schools. 

It may be right or wrong; but if right, this supervision 
surely ought to be the especial work of the head-master, 
the responsible person. The object of all schools is not to 
ram Latin and Greek into boys, but to make them good 
English boys, good future citizens; and by far the most 
important part of that work must be done, or not done, 
out of school hours. To leave it, therefore, in the hands 
of inferior men, is just giving up the highest and hardest 
part of the work of education. Were I a private school- 
master, I should say, let who will hear the boys their le& 


TOM brown’s school-days. 55 

sons, but let me live with them when they are at play and 
rest. 

The two ushers at Tom’s first school were not gentle- 
men, and very poorly educated, and were only driving their 
poor trade of usher to get such living as they could out of 
it. They were not bad men, but had little heart for their 
work, and of course were bent on making it as easy as pos- 
sible. One of the methods by which they endeavored to 
accomplish this was by encouraging tale-bearing, which 
had become a frightfully common ice in the school in 
consequence, and had sapped all the foundations of school 
morality. Another was, by favoring grossly the biggest 
boys, who alone could have given them much trouble; 
whereby those young gentlemen became most abominable 
tyrants, oppressing the little boys in all the small, mean 
ways which prevail in private schools. 

Poor little Tom was made dreadfully unhappy in his first 
week by a catastrophe which happened to his first letter 
home. With huge labor he had, on the very evening of 
his arrival, managed to fill two sides of a sheet of letter- 
paper with assurances of his love for dear mamma, his hap- 
piness at school, and his resolves to do all she would wish. 
This missive, with the help of the boy who sat at the desk 
next him, also a new arrival, he managed to fold success- 
fully; but this done, they were sadly put to it for means 
of sealing. Envelopes were then unknown, they had no 
wax, and dared not disturb the stillness of the evening 
school-room by getting up and going to ask (he usher for 
some. At length Tom’s friend, being of an ingenious 
turn of mind, suggested sealing with ink, and the letter 
was accordingly stuck down with the blot of ink, and duly 
handed by Tom, on his way to bed, to the housekeeper to 
be posted". It was not till four days afterward, that that 
good dame sent for him, and produced the precious letter, 
and some wax, saying, “ Oh, Master Brown, I forgot to 
tell you before, but your letter isn’t sealed.” Poor Tom 
took the wax in silence and sealed his letter, with a huge 
lump rising in his throat during the process, and then ran 
away to a quiet corner of the p ay-ground and burst into 
an agony of tears. The idea of his mother waiting day 
after day for the letter he had promised her at once, and 
perhaps thinking him forgetful of her, when he had done 
all in his power to make good his promise, was as bitter a 


56 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-BAYS. 


grief as an}/ which he had to undergo for many along year. 
His wrath then was proportionately violent when he was 
aware of two boys, who stopped close by him, and one of 
whom, a fat gaby of a fellow, pointed at him and called 
him “ Young mammy-sick!” Whereupon Tom arose, and 
giving vent thus to his grief and shame and rage, smote 
his derider on the nose, and made it bleed — which sent 
that young worthy howling to the usher, who reported 
Tom for violent and unprovoked assault and battery. 
Hitting in the face was a felony punishable with flogging, 
other hitting only a misdemeanor — a distinction not alto- 
gether clear in piinciple. Tom, however, escaped the 
penalty by pleading “ primum tempus and having writ- 
ten a second letter to his mother, inclosing some forget-me- 
nots, which he picked on their first half-holiday walk, felt 
quite happy again, and began to enjoy vastly a good deal' 
of his new life. 

These half-holiday walks were the great events of the 
week. The whole fifty boys started after dinner with one 
of the ushers for Hazeldown, which was distant some mile 
or so from the school. Hazeldown measured some three 
miles around, and in the neighborhood were several woods 
full of all manner of birds and butterflies. The usher 
walked slowly round the down with such boys as liked to 
accompany him; the rest scattered in all directions, being 
only bound to appear again when the usher had completed 
his round, and accompany him home. They were forbid- 
den, however, to go anywhere, except on the down and 
into the woods, the village being especially prohibited, 
where huge bullVeyes and unctuous toffy might be pro- 
cured in exchange for coin of the realm. 

Various were the amusements to which the boys then 
betook themselves. At the entrance of the down there was 
*. steep hillock, like the barrows of Tom’s own downs. 
This mound was the weekly scene of terrific combats, at a 
game called by the queer name of “ mud-patties.” The 
boys who played divided into sides under different leaders, 
and one side occupied the mound. Then all parties hav- 
ing provided themselves with many sods of turf, cut with 
their bread-and-cheese knives, the side which remained at 
the bottom proceeded to assault the mound, advancing 
upon all sides under cover of a heavy fire of turfs, and 
then struggling for victory with the occupants, which w§8 


TOM brown’s school-days. 


57 


theirs as soon as they could, even for a moment, clear the 
summit, when they in turn became the besieged. It was 
a good, rough, dirty game, and of great use in counter- 
acting the sneaking tendencies of the school. Then others 
of the boys spread over the downs, looking for the holes of 
humble-bees and mice, which they dug up without mercy, 
often, 1 regret to say, killing and skinning the unlucky 
mice, and, I do not regret to say, getting well stung by 
the humble-bees. Others went after butterflies and birds’- 
eggs in their seasons; and Tom found on Hazeldown, for 
the first time, the beautiful little blue butterfly with golden 
spots on his wings, which he had never seen on his own 
downs, and dug out his first sand-martin’s nest. This 
latter achievement resulted in a flogging, for the sand- 
martins built in a high bank close to the village, conse- 
quently out of bounds; but one of the bolder spirits of the 
school, who never could be happy unless he was doing 
sbmething to which risk attached, easily persuaded Tom 
to break bounds and visit the martins’ bank. From 
whence, it being only a step to the toffy-shop, what could 
be more simple than to go on there and fill their pockets? 
or what more certain than that on their return, a distri- 
bution of treasure having been made, the usher should 
shortly detect the forbidden smell of bulls’-eyes, and, a 
search ensuing, discover the state of the breeches-pockets 
of Tom and his ally? 

This ally of Tom’s was indeed a desperate hero in the 
sight of the boys, and feared as one who dealt in magic, or 
something approaching thereto — which reputation came 
to him in this wise. The boys went to bed at eight, and of 
course consequently lay awake in the dark for an hour or 
two, telling ghost stories by turns. One night when it 
came to his turn, and he had dried up their souls by his 
story, he suddenly declared that he would make a fiery 
hand appear on the door; and to the astonishment and ter- 
ror of the boys in his room, a hand, or something like it, 
in pale light, did then and there appear. The fame of 
this exploit having spread to the other rooms, and being 
discredited there, the young necromancer declared that the 
same wonder would appear in all the rooms in turn, which 
it accordingly did; and the whole circumstances having 
been privately reported to one of the ushers as usual, that 
fqnction&ry, after listening about at the doors of the rooips, 


58 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


by a sudden descent caught the performer in nis night- 
shirt with a box of phosphorus in his guilty hand. Lucifer- 
matches and all the present facilities for getting acquainted 
with fire were then unknown; the very name of phosphorus 
had something diabolical in it to the boy-mind; so Tom’s 
ally, at the cost of a sound flogging, earned what many 
older folk covet much — the very decided fear of most of 
his companions. 

He was a remarkable boy, and by no means a bad one, 
Tom stuck to him till he left, and got into many scrapes 
by so doing. But he was the great opponent of the tale- 
bearing habits of the school, and the open enemy of the 
ushers; and so worthy of all support. 

Tom imbibed a fair amount of Latin and Greek at the 
school, but somehow on the whole it didn’t suit him, or he 
it, and in the holidays he was constantly working the squire 
to send him at once to a public school. Great was his joy 
then, when in the middle of his third half year, in Octo- 
ber, 183 — , a fever broke out in the village, and the mas- 
ter having himself slightly sickened of it, the whole of the 
boys were sent off at a day’s notice to their respective 
homes. 

The squire was not quite so pleased as Master Tom to 
see that young gentleman’s brown merry face appear at 
home, some two months before the proper time, for Christ- 
mas holidays; and so after putting on his thinking-cap, he 
retired to his study and wrote several letters, the result of 
which was that one morning at the breakfast-table, about a 
fortnight after Tom’s return, he addressed his wife with: 
“ My dear, 1 have arranged that Tom shall go to Rugby 
at once, for the last six weeks of this half .year, instead of 
wasting them in riding and loiter ng about home. It is 
very kind of the doctor to allow it. Will you see that his 
things are all ready by Friday, when I shall take him up 
to town, and send him down the next day by himself.” 

Mrs. Brown was prepared for the announcement, and 
merely suggested a doubt whether Tom were yet old 
enough to travel by himself. However, finding both fa- 
ther and son against her on this point, she gave in like a 
wise woman, and proceeded to prepare Tom’s kit for his 
launch into a public school. 


T0A1 BliOVVJS’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 


51 / 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE STAGE-COACH. 

Let tlie steam-pot hiss till it’s hot, 

Give me the speed of the Tantivy trot. 

Coaching (Song by R. E. E. Warbukton, Esq. 

“ Now, sir, time to get up, if you please. Tally-ho 
coach for Leicester T1 be round in half an hour, and don’t 
wait for nobody.” So spake the Boots of the Peacock 
Inn, Islington, at half past two o’clock on the morning of 
a day in the early part of November, 183 — , giving Tom 
at the same time a shake by the shoulder, and then put- 
ting down a candle and carrying off his shoes to clean. 

Tom and his father had arrived in town from Berkshire 
the day before, and finding, on inquiry, that the Birming- 
ham coaches which ran from the city did not pass through 
Rugby, . but deposited their passengers at Dunehurch, a 
village three miles distant on the main road — where said 
passengers had to wait for the Oxford and Leicester coach 
in the evening, or to take a post-chaise — had resolved that 
Tom should travel down by the tally-ho, which diverged 
from the main road and passed through Rugby itself. 
And as the tally-ho was an early coach, they had driven 
out to the Peacock to be on the road. 

Tom had never been in London, and would have liked 
to have stopped at the Belle Sauvage, where they had been 
put down by the Star, just at dusk, that he might have 
gone roving about those endless, mysterious, gas lit streets, 
which, with their glare and hum and moving crowds, ex- 
cited him so that he couldn’t talk even. But as soon as 
he found that the Peacock arrangement would get him to 
Rugby by twelve o’clock in the day, whereas otherwise he 
wouldn’t be there till the evening, all other plans melted 
away; his one absorbing aim being to become a public- 
school boy as fast as possible, and six hours sooner or later 
seeming to him of the most alarming importance. 

Tom and his father had alighted at the Peacock at about 
seven in the evening, and having heard with unfeigned joy 
the paternal order at the bar, of steaks and oyster-sauce 
for supper in half an hour, and seen his father seated cozily 
Ky the bright fire in the cotfee-room with the paper in his 


60 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


hand— Tom had run out to see about him, had wondered 
at all the vehicles passing and repassing, and had frater- 
nized with the Boots and hostler, from whom he ascer- 
tained that the tally-ho was a tip-top goer, ten miles an 
hour, iacluding stoppages, and so punctual that all the road 
set their clocks by her. 

Then being summoned to supper he had regaled himself 
in one of the bright little boxes of the Peacock coffee-room 
on the beef-steak and unlimited oyster-sauce and brown 
stout (tasted then for the first time — a day to be marked 
forever by Tom with a white stone); had at first attended 
to the excellent advice which his father was bestowing on 
him from over his glass of steaming brandy and water, and 
then began nodding from the united effects of the stout, 
the fire, and the lecture. Till the squire, observing Tom’s 
state and remembering that it was nearly nine o’clock, and 
that the tally-ho left at three, sent the little fellow off to 
the chamber-maid, with a shake of the hand (Tom having 
stipulated in the morning before starting that kissing 
should now cease between them) and a few parting words. 

“ And now, Tom, my boy,” said the squire, “ remem- 
ber you are going, at your own earnest request, to be 
chucked into this great school, like a young bear with all 
your troubles before you — earlier than we should have sent 
you, perhaps. If schools are what they were in my time, 
you’ll see a great many cruel blackguard things done, and 
hear a deal of foul bad talk. But never fear. You tell 
the truth, keep a brave and kind heart, and never listen to 
or say anything you wouldn’t have your mother and sister 
hear, and you’ll never feel ashamed to come home, or we 
to sec you.” 

The allusion to his mother made Tom feel rather choky, 
and he would have liked to have hugged his father well, if 
it hadn’t been for the recent stipulation. 

As it was, he only squeezed his father’s hand, and 
looked bravely up and said: 

“ I’ll try, father.” 

“ 1 know you will, my boy. Is your money all safe?” 

“ Yes,” said Tom, diving into one pocket to make sure, 

“ And your keys?” said the squire. 

“ All right,” said Tom, diving into the other pocket. 

nrnrw't _r> i rrL f- 


TOM BROWH’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


61 


Tom was carried off by the chambermaid in a brown 
study, from which he was roused in a clean little attic by 
that buxom person calling him a little darling, and kissing 
him as she left the room, which indignity he was too much 
surprised to resent. And still thinking of his father’s last 
words, and the look with which they were spoken, he knelt 
down and prayed, that, come what might, he might never 
bring shame or sorrow on the dear folk at home. 

Indeed, the squire’s last words deserved to have their 
effect, for they had been the result of much anxious 
thought. All the way up to London he had pondered 
what he should say to Tom by way of parting advice, 
something that the boy could keep in his head ready for 
use. By way of assisting meditation, he had even gone the 
length of taking out his flint and steel and tinder, and 
hammering away for a quarter of an hour till he had 
manufactured a light for a long Trichinopoli cheroot, 
which he silently puffed, to the no small wonder of coachee, 
who was an old friend, and an institution on the Bath 
Koad, and who always expected a talk on the prospects 
and doings, agricultural and social, of the whole county 
when he carried the squire. 

To condense the squire’s meditation, it was somewhat as 
follows: “ 1 won’t tell him to read his Bible and love and 
serve God; if he don’t do that for his mother’s sake and 
teaching, he won’t for mine. Shall I go into the sort of 
temptations he’ll meet with? No, I can’t do that. Never 
do for an old fellow to go into such things with a boy. He 
won’t understand me. I)o him more harm than good, ten 
to one. Shall 1 tell him to mind his work, and say he’s 
sent to school to make himself a good scholar? Well, but 
he isn’t sent to school for that — at any rate not for that 
mainly. I don’t care a straw for Greek particles, or the 
digamma, no more does his mother. What is he sent to 
school for? Well, partly because he wanted so to go. If 
he’ll only turn out a brave, helpful, truth-telling English- 
man, and a gentleman, and a Christian, that’s all 1 want,” 
thought the squire; and upon this view of the case framed 
his last words of advice t* Tom, which were well enough 
suited to his purpose. 

For they were Tom’s first thoughts as he tumbled out of 
bed at the summons of Boots, and proceeded rapidly to 
wash and dress himself. At ten minutes to three he was 


62 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


down in the coffee-room in his stockings, carrying his hat- 
box, coat, and comforter in his hand; and there he found 
his father nursing a bright fire, and a cup of hot coffee and 
a hard biscuit on the table. 

“ Now, then, Tom, give us your things here, and drink 
this; there’s nothing like starting warm, old fellow. ” 

Tom addressed himself to the coffee, and prattled away 
while he worked himself into his shoes and his great-coat, 
well warmed through; a Petersham coat with velvet col- 
lar, made tight, after the abominable fashion of those days. 
And just as he is swallowing his last mouthful, winding 
his comforter round his throat, and tucking the ends imo 
the breast of his coat, the horn sounds. Boots looks in, and 
says, “ Tally-ho, sir;” and they hear the ring and the 
rattle of the four fast trotters and the town-made drag as 
it dashes up to the Peacock. 

“Anything for us. Bob?” says the burly guard, drop- 
ping down from behind, and slapping himself across the 
chest. 

“Young gentPm’n, Rugby; three parcels, Leicester; 
hamper o’ game, Rugby,” answers hostler. 

“ Tell young gent to look alive,” says guard, opening 
the hind-boot and shooting in the parcels after examining 
them by the lamps. “ Here, shove the portmanteau up 
a-top— I’ll fasten him presently. Now, then, sir, jump 
up behind.” 

“ Good-bye, father — my love at home.” 

A last shake of the hand. Up goes Tom, the guard 
catching his hat-box, and holding on with one hand, while 
with the other he claps the horn to his mouth. Toot, 
toot, toot! the hostlers let go their heads, the four bays 
plunge at the collar, and away goes the tally-ho in the 
darkness, forty-five seconds from the time they pulled up; 
hostler, Boots, and the squire stand looking after them 
under the Peacock lamp. 

“Sharp work!” says the squire, and goes in again to 
his bed, the coach being well out of sight and hearing. 

Tom stands up on the coach and looks back at his fa- 
ther’s figure as long as he can see it, and then the guard 
having disposed of his luggage comes to an anchor, and 
finishes his buttonings and oth^r preparations for facing 
the three hours before dawn; no joke for those who minded 


TOM brown's school-days. 85 

cold, on a fast coach in November, in the reign of his late 
majesty. 

I sometimes think that you boys of this generation are a 
deal tenderer fellows than we used to be. At any rate, 
you're much more comfortable travelers, for 1 see every 
one of you with his rug or plaid, and other dodges for pre- 
serving the caloric, and most of you going in those fuzzy, 
dusty, padded first-class carriages. It was another affair 
altogether, a dark ride oil the top of the tally-ho, 1 cau 
tell you, in a tight Petersham coat, and your feet dangling 
six inches from the floor. Then you knew what cold was, 
and what it was to be without legs, for not a bit of feeling 
had you in them after the first half hour. But it had its 
pleasures, the old dark ride. First there was the con- 
sciousness of silent endurance, so dear to every Englishman 
— of standing out against something and not giving in. 
Then there was the music of the rattling harness, and the 
ring of the horse's feet on the bard road, and the glare of 
the two bright lamps through the steaming hoar-frost, over 
the leaders' ears, into the darkness; and the cheery toot 
of the guard's horn, to warn some drowsy pikeman, or the 
hostler at the next change; and the looking forward to 
daylight — and last, but not least, the delight of returning 
sensation in your toes. 

Then the break of dawn and the sunrise; where can they 
ever be seen in perfection but from a coach roof? You 
want motion and change and music to see them in their 
glory; not the music of singing men and singing women, 
but good silent music, which sets itself in your own head to 
the accompaniment of work and getting over the ground. 

The tally-ho is past St. Alban's, and Tom is enjoying 
the ride, though half frozen. The guard, who is alone 
with him on the back of the coach, is silent, but has 
muffled Tom’s feet up in straw, and put the end of an oat- 
sack over his knees. The darkness has driven him inward, 
and he has gone over his little past life, and thought of all 
his doings and promises, and of his mother and sister, and 
his father’s last words; he has made fifty good resolutions, 
and means to bear himself like a brave Brown as he is, 
though a young one. 

Then he has been forward into the mysterious boy-future, 
speculating as to what sort of a place Rugby is, and what 
they do there, and calling up all the stories of public schools 


64 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


which he has heard from big boys in the holidays. He is 
chock-full of hope and life, notwithstanding the cold, and 
kicks his heels against the backboard, and would like to 
sing, only he doesn't know how his friend, the silent guard, 
might take it. 

And now the dawn breaks at the end of the fourth stage, 
and the coach pulls up at a little road-side inn with huge 
stables behind. There is a bright fire gleaming through 
the red curtains of the bar-window, and the door is open. 
The coachman catches his whip into a double thong, and 
throws it to the hostler; the steam of the horses rises 
straight up into the air. He has put them along over the 
last two miles, and is two minutes before his time; he rolls 
down from the box and into the inn. The guard rolls off 
behind. 

“ Now, sir," says he to Tom, “ you just jump down and 
I'll give you a drop of something to keep the cold out." 

Tom finds a difficulty in jumping, or indeed in finding 
the top of the wheel with his feet, which may be in the 
next world for all he feels; so the guard picks him off the 
coach-top, and sets him on his legs, and they stump off 
into the bar, and join the coachman and the other outside 
passengers. 

Here a fresh-looking bar-maid serves them each with a 
glass of early purl as they stand before the fire, coachman 
and guard exchanging business remarks. The purl warms 
the cockles of Tom's heart, and makes him cough. 

“ Rare tackle, that, sir, of a cold morning," says the 
coachman, smiling. “Time’s up." They are out again 
and up, coachee the last, gathering the reins into his 
hands and talking to Jem the hostler about the mare’s 
shoulder, and then swinging himself up on to the box — 
the horses dashing off in a canter before he falls into his 
seat. Toot-tootle-too goes the horn, and away they are 
again, five-and-thirty miles on their road (nearly half-way 
to Rugby, thinks Tom) and the prospect of breakfast at 
the end of the stage. 

And now they begin to see, and the early life of the 
country-side comes out; a market cart or two, men in 
smock-frocks going to their work, pipe in mouth, a whiff 
of which is no bad smell this bright morning. The sun 
gets up, and the mist shines like silver gauze. They pass 
the hounds jogging along to a distant meet, at the heels 


TOM BRCTWVs SCHOOL-DAYS. 65 

of the huntsman’s hack, whose face is about the color of 
the tails of his old pink, as he exchanges greetings with 
coachman and guard. Now they pull up at a lodge, and 
take on board a well-muffled-up sportsman, with his gun- 
case and carpet-bag. An early up-coach meets them, and 
the coachmen gather up their horses, and pass one another, 
with the accustomed lift of the elbow, each team doing 
eleven miles an hour, with a mile to spare behind if neces- 
sary. And here comes breakfast. 

“ Twenty minutes here, gentlemen,” says the coachman 
as they pull up at half past seven at the inn door. 

Have we not endured nobly this morning, and is not this 
a worthy reward for much endurance? There is the low 
dark wainscoted room hung with sporting prints; the hat- 
stand (with a whip or two standing up in it belonging to 
bagmen who are still snug in bed) by the door; the blaz- 
ing fire, with the quaint old glass over the mantel-piece in 
which is stuck a large card with the list of the meets for 
the week of the county hounds. The table covered with 
the whitest of clothes and of china, and bearing a pigeon-pie, 
ham, round of cold boiled beef cut from a mammoth ox, 
and the great loaf of household bread on a wooden trencher. 
And here comes in the stout head-waiter, puffing under a 
tray of hot viands; kidneys and a steak, transparent 
rashers and poached eggs, buttered toast and muffins, 
coffee and tea, all smoking hot. The table can never 
hold it all; the cold meats are removed to the sideboard, 
they were only put on for a show and to give us an appe- 
tite". And now fall in, gentlemen all. It is a well-known 
sporting-house, and the breakfasts are famous. Two or 
three men in pink, on their way to the meet, drop in, and 
are very jovial and sharp-set, as indeed we all are. 

“ Tea or coffee, sir?” says the head- waiter, coming 
round to Tom. 

“ Coffee, please,” says Tom, with his mouth full of 
muffin and kidney; coffee is a treat to him, tea is not. 

Our conchman, 1 perceive, who breakfasts with us, is a 
cold-beef man. . He also eschews hot potations, and addicts 
himself to a tankard of ale, which is brought him by the 
bar-maid. Sportsman looks on approvingly, and orders a 
ditto for himself. 

Tom has eaten kidney and pigeon- pie, and imbibed 
coffee, till his little skin i$ as tight as a drum; and thea 
s ^ 


66 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


has the further pleasure of paying the head-waiter out of 
his own purse, in a dignified manner, and walks out before 
the inn door to see the horses put to. This is done leisure- 
ly and in a highly finished manner by the hostlers, as if 
they enjoyed the not being hurried. Coachman comes 
out with his way-bill and puffing a fat cigar which the 
sportsman has given him. Guard emerges from the tap, 
where he prefers breakfasting, licking round a tough-look- 
ing doubtful cheroot, which you might tie round your fin- 
ger, and three whiffs of which would knock any one else out 
of time. 

The pinks stand about the inn door lighting cigars aud 
waiting to see us start, while their hacks are led up and 
down the market-place on which the inn looks. They all 
know our sportsman, and we feel a reflected credit when 
we see him chatting and laughing with them. 

44 Now, sir, please,” says the coachman; all the rest of 
the passengers are up; the guard is locking the hind 
boot. 

44 A good run to you!” says the sportsman to the pinks, 
and is by the coachman’s side in no time. 

44 Let ’em go, Dick!” The hostlers fly back, drawing 
off the cloths from their glossy loius, and away we go 
through the market-place aud down the High Street, look- 
ing in at the first-floor windows, and seeing several worthy 
burgesses shaving thereat; while all the shop-boys who are 
cleaning the windows, and house-maids who are doing the 
steps, stop and look pleased as we rattle past, as if were a 
part of their legitimate morning’s amusement. We clear 
the town, and are well out between the hedge-rows again as 
the clock strikes eight. 

The sun shines almost warmty, and breakfast has oiled 
all springs and loosened all tongues. Tom is encouraged 
by a remark or two of the guard’s between the puffs of 
his oily cheroot, and besides is getting tired of not talk- 
ing; lie is too full of his destination to talk about anything 
else; and so asks the guard if he knows Rugby. 

“ Goes through it every day of my life. Twenty minutes 
afore twelve down — ten o’clock up.” 

“ What sort of a place is it, please?” says Tom. 

Guard looks at him with a comical expression. 44 Werry 
out-o’-the-way place, sir; no paving to the streets nor no 
lighting. ’Mazin big horse and cattle fair in autumn— 


TOM BHOWN’S SCftOOL-DAYS. 


67 


lasts a week — just over now. Takes town a week to get 
clean after it. Fairish hunting country. But slow place, 
sir, slow place, off the main road, you see — only three 
coaches a day, and one on ’em a two-oss wan, more like a 
hearse nor a coach— Regulator — conies from Oxford. Young 
genl’m’ii at school calls her Pig and Whistle, and goes up 
to college by her (six miles an hour) when they goes to 
enter. Belong to school, sir?” 

“ Yes,” says Tom, not unwilling for a moment that 
the guard should think him an old boy. But then having 
some qualms as to the truth of the assertion, and seeing 
that if he were to assume the character of an old boy he 
couldn’t go on asking the questions he wanted, added — 
“ that is to say, I’m on my way there. I’m a new boy.” 

The guard looked as if he knew this quite as well as Tom. 

“You’re werry late, sir,” says the guard; “only six 
weeks to-day to the end of the half.” Tom assented. 
“ We takes up fine loads this day six weeks, and Monday 
and Tuesday arter. Hopes we shall have the pleasure of 
carrying you back.” 

Tom said lie hoped they would; but he thought within 
himself that his fate would probably be the Pig and 
Whistle. 

“It pays uncommon, cert’nly,” continues the guard. 
“ Werry free with their cash is the young genl’m’n. But 
Lor’ bless you, we gets in such rows all ’long the road, 
what wi’ their pea-shooters and long whips, and hollering, 
and upsetting every one as comes by; I’d a sight sooner 
carry one or two on ’em, sir, as I may be a-carryin’ of 
you now, than a coach load.” 

“ What do they do with the pea-shooters?” inquires 
Tom. 

“ Do wi’ ’em! why, peppers every one’s faces as we 
comes near, ’cept the young gals, and breaks windows wi’ 
them too, some on ’em shoots so hard. Now ’twas just 
here last June, as we was a driving up the first-day boys, 
they was mendin’ a quarter mile of road, and there was 
a lot of Irish chaps, reg’lar roughs, a-breaking stones. 
As we comes up, ‘ Now, boys,’ says young gent on the box 
(smart young fellow and desper’t reckless), ‘here’s fun! 
Let the Pats have it about (he ears.’ ‘ God’s sake, sir!’ 
says Bob (that’s my mate (lie coachman), ‘ don’t go for 
to shoot at ’em, they’ll knock us off the coach.’ 6 Damme, 


68 tom brown’s sciiool-days. 

coachee,’ says young my lord, ‘you ain’t afraid; hoora, 
boys! let ’em have it.’ ‘ Hoora!’ sings out the others, 
and fill their mouths chock-full of peas to last the whole 
line. Bob seeing as it ’twas to come, knocks his hat over 
his eyes, hollers to his ’osses, and shakes ’em up, and away 
we goes up to the line on ’em, twenty miles an hour. The 
Pats begin to hoora too, thinking it was a runaway, the 
first lot on ’em stands grinnin’ and wavin’ their old hats 
as we comes abreast on ’em; and then you’d ha’ laughed 
to see how took aback and choking savage they looked 
when they gets the peas a-stingi-ng all over ’em. But 
bless yon, the laugh weren’t all of our side, sir, by a long 
way. We was going so fast, and they were so took aback, 
that they didn’t take what was up till we was half-way up 
the line. Then ’twas ‘ look out all,’ surely. They howls 
all down the line to frighten you, some on ’em runds arter 
us and tries to clamber up behind, only we hits ’em over 
the fingers and pulls their hands off; one as had had it 
very sharp act’ly runs right at the leaders, as though he’d 
ketch ’em by the heads, only luck’ly for him he misses his 
tip, and comes over a heap o’ stones first. The rest picks 
up stones, and gives it us right away till we gets out o’ 
shot, the young gents holding out werry manful with the 
pea-shooters, and such stones as lodged on us, and a pretty 
many there was too. Then Bob picks hisself- up 
again, and looks at young gent on box werry solemn. 
Bob’d had a rum un in the ribs, which’d like to ha’ 
knocked him off the box, or made him drop the reins. 
Young gent on box picks hisself up, and so does we all, and 
looks round to count damage. Box’s head cut open and 
his hat gone; ’nother young gent’s hat gone; mine knocked 
in at the side, and not one on us wasn’t black and blue 
somewheres or another; most on ’em all over. Two-pound- 
ten to pay for damage to paint, which they subscribed for 
there and then, and give Bob and me a extra half sover- 
eign each; but I wouldn’t go down that line again not for 
twenty half sovereigns.” And the guard shook his head 
slowly, and got up and blew a clear, brisk toot-toot. 

“ What fun,” said Tom, who could scarcely contain his 
pride at t his exploit of his future school-fellows. He longed 
already for the end of the half, that he might join them. 

“ ’Tain’t such good fun lliough, sir, for the folk as meets 
the coach, nor for we who has to go back with it next 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


G9 


day. Them Irishers last summer had all got stones ready 
for us, and was all but letting drive, and we’d got two 
reverend gents aboard too. We pulled up at the begin- 
ning of the line, and pacified them, and we’re never going 
to carry no more pea-shooters, unless they promises not 
to fire where there’s a line of Irish chaps a stone-breaking. ” 
The guard stopped and pulled away at his cheroot, regard- 
ing Tom benignantly the while. 

“ Oh, don’t stop! tell me something more about the 
pea-shooting. ” 

“ Well, there’d like to have been a pretty piece of work 
over it at Bicester, awhile back. We was six mile from 
the town, when we meets an old square-headed gray-haired 
yeoman chap, a-jogging along quite quiet. He looks up 
at the coach, and just then a pea hits him on the nose, 
and some ketches his cob behind and makes him dance 
up on his hind legs. I see’d the old boy’s face flush and 
look plaguy awkward, and I thought he was in for some- 
thin’ nasty. 

“ He turns his cob’s head, and rides quickly after us just 
out of shot. How that ere cob did step! we never shook 
him off not a dozen yards in the six mile. At first the 
young gents was werry lively on him; but afore we got in, 
seeing how steady the old chap come on, they was quite 
quiet, and laid their heads together what they should do. 
Some was for fighting, some for axing his pardon. He 
rides into the town close after us, comes up when we stops, 
and says the two as shot at him must come before a magis- 
trate; and a great crowd comes round, and we couldn’t 
get the ’osses to. But the young uns, they all stand by 
one another, and says all or none must go, and as how 
they’d fight it out, and have to be carried. Just as ’twas 
gettin’ serious, and the old boy and the mob was goin’ to 
pull ’em off the coach, one little fellow jumps up and says, 

‘ Here — I’ll stay — I’m only going three miles further. 
My father’s name’s Davis; he’s known about here, and I’ll 
go before the magistrate with this gentlemen.’ What, be 
thee Parson Davis’s son?’ says the old boy. 4 Yes,’ says 
the young un. 4 Well, I be mortal sorry to meet thee in 
such company, but for thy father’s sake and thine (for 
thee bist a brave young chap) I’ll say no more about it.’ 
Didn’t the boys cheer him, and the mob cheered the young 
chap— and then one of the biggest gets down, and begs his 


70 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


pardon vverry gentlemanly for all the rest, saying as they 
all had been plaguy vexed from the first, but didn’t like 
to ax his pardon till then, ’cause they felt they hadn’t 
ought to shirk the consequences of their joke. And then 
they all got down and shook hands with the old boy, and 
asked him to all parts of the country, to their homes; 
and we drives off twenty minutes behind time, with cheer- 
ing and hollering as if we was county members. But, 
Lor’ bless you, sir,” says the guard, smacking his hand 
down on his knee and looking full into Tom’s face, “ ten 
minutes arter they was all as bad as ever.” 

Tom showed such undisguised and open-mouthed interest 
in his narrations, that the old guard rubbed up his memory, 
and launched out into a graphic history of all the perform- 
ances of the boys on the road for the last twenty years. Otf 
the road he couldn’t go; the exploit must have been connect- 
ed with horses or vehicles to hang in the old fellow’s head. 
Tom tried him off his own ground once or twice, but found 
he knew nothing beyond, and so let him have his head, and 
the rest of the road bowled easily away; for old Blow-hard 
(as the boys called him) was a dry old file, with much 
kindness and humor, and a capital spinner of a yarn when 
he had broken the neck of his day’s work, and got plenty 
of ale under his belt. 

What struck Tom’s youthful imagination most was the 
desperate and lawless character of most of the stories. Was 
the guard hoaxing him? He couldn’t hope helping that 
they were true. It’s very odd how almost all English boys 
love danger; you can get ten to join a game, or climb a 
tree, or swim a stream, when there’s a chance of breaking 
their limbs or getting drowned, for one who’ll stay on level 
ground, or in his depth, or play at quoits or bowls. 

The guard had just finished an account of a desperate 
fight which had happened at one of the fairs between the 
drovers and the farmers with their whips, and the boys 
with cricket-bats and wickets, which arose out of a playful 
but objectionable practice of the boys going around to the 
public-houses and taking the linch-pins out of the wheels of 
the gigs, and was moralizing upon the way in which the 
doctor, “a terrible stern man, he’d heard tell,” had 
come down upon several of the performers, “ sending 
three on ’em off next morning, each in a po-chay with a 
parish constable,” when they turned a corner and neared 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


71 


the mile-stone, the third from Rugby. By the stone two 
boys stood, their jackets buttoned tight, waiting for the 
coach. 

“ Look here, sir,” says the guard, after giving a sharp 
toot-toot, “ there’s two on ’em; out and out runners they 
be. They come out about twice or three times a week, 
and spirts a mile alongside of us. ” 

And as they came up, sure enough, away went the two 
boys along the foot-path, keeping up with the horses; the 
first a light, clean-made fellow going on springs, the other 
stout and round-shouldered, laboring in his pace, but going 
as dogged as a bull-terrier. 

Old Blow-hard looked on admiringly. “ See how beau- 
tifully that ere un holds hisself together, and goes from his 
hips, sir,” said he; “ lie’s a ’mazin fine runner. Now, 
many coachmen as drives a first-rate team’d put it on and 
try and pass ’em. But, Bob, sir, bles3 you, he’s tender- 
hearted; he’d sooner pull in a bit if he see’d ’em gettin’ 
beat. I do b’lieve, too, as that there un ’d sooner break 
his heart than let us go by him fore next mile-stone.” 

At the second mile-stone the boys pulled up short and 
waved their hats to the guard, who had his watch out and 
shouted “ 4:56,” thereby indicating that the mile had 
been done in four seconds under the five minutes. They 
passed several more parties of boys, all of them objects of 
the deepest interest to Tom, and came in sight of the town 
at ten minutes before twelve. Tom fetched a long breath, 
and thought he had never spent a pleasanter day. Before 
he went to bed he had quite settled that it must be the 
greatest day he should ever spend, and didn’t alter his opin- 
ion for many a long year— if he has yet. 


CHAPTER V. 

RUGBY AND FOOTBALL. 

“ Foot and eye opposed 
In dubious strife.” 

“ And so here’s Rugby, sir, at last, and you’ll be in 
plenty of time for dinner at the school -house, as 1 tell’d 
you,” said the old guaid, pulling his horn out of its case, 
and tootle-tooing away; while the coachman shook up his 
horses, and carried tljepi along the side of the school close, 


72 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


round Dead-man’s corner, past the school gates, and down 
the High Street to the Spread Eagle; the wheelers in a 
spanking trot, and leaders cantering in a style which 
would not have disgraced “ Cherry Bob,” ramping, stamp- 
ing, “ tearing, swearing Billy Harwood,” or any other of 
the old coaching heroes. 

Tom’s heart beat quick as he passed the great school field 
or close, with its noble elms, in which several games at 
football were going on, and tried to take in at once the 
long line of gray buildings, beginning with the chapel, and 
ending with the school-house, the residence of the head- 
master, where the great flag was lazily waving from the 
highest round tower. And he began already to be proud 
of being a Rugby boy, as he passed the school-gates, with 
the oriel window above, and saw the boys standing there, 
looking as if the town belonged to them, and nodding in 
a familiar manner to the coachman, as if any one of them 
would be quite equal to getting on the box and working 
the team down street as well as he. 

One of the young heroes, however, ran out from the rest, 
and scrambled up behind; where, having righted himself 
and nodded to the guard with “ How do, Jem?” he turned 
short around to Tom, and, after looking him over for a 
minute, began: 

“ I say, you fellow, is your name Brown?” 

“ Yes,” said Tom, in considerable astonishment; glad 
however, to have lighted on some one already who seemed 
to know him. 

“ Ah, I thought so; you know my old aunt Miss East; 
she lives somewhere down your way in Berkshire. She 
wrote to me that you were coming to-day, and asked me 
to give you a lift.” 

Tom was somewhat inclined to resent the patronizing air 
of his new friend — a boy of just about his own height and 
age, but gifted with the most transcendent coolness and 
assurance, which Tom felt to be aggravating and hard to 
bear, but couldn’t for the life of him help admiring and 
envying, especially when young my lord begins hectoring 
two or three long loafing fellows, half porter, half stable- 
man, with a strong touch of the blackgdard, and in the 
end arranges with one of them, nicknamed Cooey, to carry 
Tom’s luggage up to the school-house for sixpence. 

“ And hearkee, Gooey, it must be up in ten minutes, or 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


73 


no more jobs from me. Come along, Brown.” And 
away swaggers the young potentate, with his hands in his 
pockets, and Tom at his side. 

“ All right, sir,” says Oooey, touching his hat, with a 
leer and a wink at his companions. 

“ Halloo, though,” says East, pulling up, and taking 
another look at Tom, “ this’ll never do — haven’t you got 
a hat? — we never wear caps here. Only the louts wear 
caps. Bless you, if you were to go into the quadrangle 
with that thing on, I — don’t know vvhat’d happen.” The 
very idea was quite beyond young Master East, and he 
looked unutterable things. 

Tom thought his cap a very knowing affair, but con- 
fessed that he had a hat in his hat-box; which was accord- 
ingly at once extracted from the hind-boot, and Tom was 
equipped in his go-to-meeting roof, as his new friend 
called it. But this didn’t quite suit his fastidious taste in 
another minute, being too shiny; so, as they walked up 
the town, they dive into Nixon the hatter’s, and Tom 
is arrayed, to his utter astonishment, and without paying 
for it, in a regulation cat-skin at seven and sixpence; Nixon 
undertaking to send the best hat up to the matron’s room, 
school-house, in half an hour. 

“ You can send in a note for a tile on Monday, and 
make it all right, you know,” said Mentor; “ we’re allowed 
two seven-and-sixers a half, besides what we bring from 
home. ” 

Tom by this time began to be conscious of his new social 
position and dignities, and to luxuriate in the realized am- 
bition of being a public-school boy at last, with a vested 
right of spoiling two seven-and-sixers in half a year. 

" You see,” said his friend, as they strolled up toward 
the school gates, in explanation of his conduct — ” a great 
deal depends on how a fellow cuts up at first. If he’s got 
nothing odd. about him, and answers straightforward and 
holds his head up, he gets on. Now you’ll do very well as 
to rig, all but that cap. You see I’m doing the hand- 
some thing by you, because my father knows yours: besides, 
I want to please the old lady. She gave me half a sov. this 
half, and perhaps’ll double it next, if I keep in her good 
books.” 

There’s nothing for candor like a lower-school boy; and 


74 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


East was a genuine specimen — frank, hearty, and good- 
natured, well satisfied with himself and his position, and 
chock-full of life and spirits, and all the Rugby prejudices 
and traditions which lie had been able to get together, in 
the long course cf one half year, during which he had 
been at the school-house. 

And Tom, notwithstanding his bumptiousness, felt 
friends with him at once, and began sucking in all his way3 
and prejudices, as fast as he could understand them. 

East was great in the character of cicerone; he carried 
Tom through the great gates, where were only two or 
three boys. These satisfied themselves with the stock 
questions — “You fellow, what’s your name? Where do 
you come from? How old are you? Where do you board? 
and, What form are you in?”— and so they passed on 
through the quadrangle and a small court-yard, upon 
which looked down a lot of little windows (belonging, as 
his guide informed him, to some of the school-house 
studies), into the matron’s room, where East introduced 
Tom to that dignitary; made him give up the key of his 
trunk that the matron might unpack his linen, and told 
the story of the hat and of his own presence of mind, upon 
the relation whereof the matron laughingly scolded him, 
for the coolest new boy in the house; and East, indignant 
at the accusation of newness, marched Tom off into the 
quadrangle and began showing him the schools, and exam- 
ining him, as to his literary attainments; the result of 
which was a prophecy that they would be in the same 
form, and could do their lessons together. 

“ And now come in and see my study; we shall have 
just time before dinner; and afterward, before calling 
over, we’ll do the close.” 

Tom followed his guide through the school-house hall, 
which opens into the quadrangle. It is a great room 
thirty feet long and eighteen high, or thereabouts, with 
two great tables running the whole length, and two large 
fire-places at the side, with blazing fires in them, at one of 
which some dozen boys were standing and lounging, some 
of whom shouted to East to stop; but he shot through with 
his convoy, and landed him in the long dark passages, with 
a large fire at the end of each, upon which the studies 
opened. Into one of these, in the bottom passage, East 
bolted with our hero, slamming and bolting the door be- 


TOM brown’s school-days. 75 

hind them, in case of pursuit from the hall, aud Tom was 
for the first time in a Rugby boy’s citadel. 

He hadn’t been prepared for separate studies, and was 
not a little astonished and delighted with the palace in 
question. 

It wasn’t very large, certainly, being about six feet long 
by four broad. It couldn’t be called light, as there were 
bars and a grating to the window; which little precautions 
were necessary in the studies on the ground floor looking 
out into the close, to prevent the exit of small boys after 
locking up, and the entrance of contraband articles. But 
it was uncommonly comfortable to look at, Tom thought. 
The space under the window at the further end was occu- 
pied by a square table covered with a reasonably clean and 
whole red-and-blue check table-cloth; a hard-seated sofa 
covered with red stuff occupied one side, running up to the 
end, and making a seat for one, or, by sitting close, for 
two, at the table; and a good stout wooden chair afforded 
a seat to another boy, so that three could sit and work to- 
gether. The walls were wainscoted half-way up, the 
wainscot being covered with green baize, the remainder 
with a bright-patterned paper, on which hung three or four 
prints, of dog’s heads, Grimaldi winning the Aylesbury 
steeple-chase, Amy Robsart, the reigning Waverley beauty 
of the day, and Tom Oribb in a posture of defense, which 
did no credit to the science of that hero, if truly repre- 
sented. Over the door were a row of hat-pegs, and on 
each side book-cases with cupboards at the bottom; shelves 
and cupboards being filled indiscriminately with school- 
books, a cup or two, a mouse-trap, and brass candlesticks, 
leather straps, a fustian bag, and some curious-looking 
articles, which puzzled Tom not a little, until his friend 
explained that they were climbing-irons, and showed their 
use. A cricket-bat and small fishing-rod stood up in one 
corner. 

This was the residence of East and another boy in the 
same form, and had more interest for Tom than Windsor 
Castle or any other residence in the British Isles. For was 
he not about to become the joint owner of a similar home, 
the first place which he could call his own! One’s own! 
What a charm there is in the words! How long it takes 
boy and man to find out their worth! how fast most of us 
hold on to them! faster and more jealously the nearer we 


76 


TOM brown’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 


are to that general home into which we can take nothing, 
but must go naked as we came into the world! When shall 
we learn that he who multiplieth possessions multiplieth 
troubles, and that the one single use of things which we 
call our own is that they may be his who hath need of. 
them? 

“ And shall 1 have a study like this too?” said Tom. 

“ Yes, of course; you’ll be chummed with some fellow 
on Monday, and you can sit here till then.” 

“ What nice places!” 

“ They’re well enough,” answered East, patronizingly, 
“ only uncommon cold at nights sometimes. Gower — 
that’s my chum — and I make a fire with paper on the floor 
after supper generally, only that makes it so smoky.” 

“ But there’s a big fire out in the passage,” said Tom. 

“ Precious little good we get out of that, though,” said 
East; “ Jones, the praepostor, has the study at the fire-end, 
and he has rigged up an iron rod and green baize curtain 
across the passage, which he draws at night, and sits there 
with his door open, so he gets all the fire, and hears if we 
come out of our studies after eight, or make a noise. 
However, he’s taken to sitting in the fifth form room late- 
ly, so we do get a bit of fire now sometimes; only keep a 
sharp lookout that he don’t catch you behind his curtain 
when he comes down — that’s all.” 

A quarter past one now struck, and the bell began toll- 
ing for dinner, so they went into the hall and took their 
places, Tom at the very bottom of the second table, next 
to the praepostor, who sat at the end to keep order there, 
and East a few paces higher. And now Tom for the first 
time saw his future school-fellows in a body. In they 
came, some hot and ruddy from football or long walks, 
some pale and chilly from hard reading in their studies, 
some from loitering over the fire at the pastry-cook’s, dainty 
mortals, bringing with them pickles and sauce-bottles to 
help them with their dinners. And a great big bearded 
man, whom Tom took for a master, began calling over the 
names, while the great joints were being rapidly carved on 
a third table in the corner by the old verger and the house- 
keeper. Tom’s turn came last, and meanwhile he was all 
eyes, looking first with awe at the great man who sat close 
to him, and was helped first, and who read a hard-looking 
book all the time he was eating; and when he got up and 


TOM brown's school-days. 77 

walked off to the fire, at the small boys round him, some 
of whom were reading, and the rest talking in whispers to 
one another, or stealing one another's bread, or shooting 
pellets, or digging their forks through the table-cloth. 
However, notwithstanding his curiosity, he managed to 
make a capital dinner by the time the big man called 
“ Stand up!", and said grace. 

As soon as dinner was over and Tom had been ques- 
tioned by such of his neighbors as were curious as to his 
birth, parentage, education, and other like matters, East, 
who evidently enjoyed his new dignity of patron and men- 
tor, proposed having a look at the close, which Tom, athirst 
for knowledge, gladly assented to, and they went out 
through the quadrangle and past the big fives'-court, into 
the great play-ground. 

“That's the chapel, you see," said East, “and there 
just behind it is the place for fights; you see it's most out 
of the way of the masters, who all live on the other side 
and don’t come by here after first lesson or callings-over. 
That's where the fights come off. And all this part where 
we are is the little side-ground, right up to the trees, and 
on the other side of the trees is the big side-ground where 
the great matches are played. And there’s the island in 
the furthest corner; you'll know that well enough next 
half, when there's island fagging. 1 say, it's horrid cold, 
let's have a run across," and away went East, Tom close 
behind him. East was evidently putting his best foot fore- 
most, and Tom, who was mighty proud of his running, 
and not a little anxious to show his friend that although a 
new boy he was no milksop, laid himself down to the work 
in his very best style. Right across the close they went, 
each doing all he knew, and there wasn't a yard between 
them when they pulled up at the island moat. 

“ I say," said East, as soon as he got his wind, looking 
with much increased respect at Tom, “ you ain't a bad 
scud, not by no meaus. Well, I'm as warm as a toast 
now." 

“ F>ut why do you wear white trousers in November?" 
said Tom. 

He had been struck by this peculiarity in the costume of 
almost all the school-house boys. 

“ Why, bless us, don’t you know? No, I forgot. Why, 
to-day's the school-house match. Our house plays the 


?8 


TOM brown's ?!CHOOL-T)At&. 


whole of the school at football. And we all wear white 
trousers, to show ’em we don’t care for hacks. You’re in 
luck to come to-day. You just will see a match, and 
Brooke’s going to let me play in quarters. That’s more 
than lie’ll do for any other lower-school boy except James, 
and he’s fourteen. ” 

“ Who’s Brooke?” 

“ Why. that big fellow who called over at dinner, to be 
sure, lie’s cock of the school, and head of the school- 
house side, and the best kick and charger in Rugby. ” 

“ Oh, but do show me where they play? And tell me 
about it. I love football so, and have played all my life. 
Won’t Brooke let me play?” 

‘‘Not he,” said East, with some indignation; “why, 
you don’t know the rules — you’ll be a month learning 
them. And then it’s no joke playing-up in a match, 1 
can tell you. Quite another thing from your private- 
school games. Why, there's been two collar-bones broken 
this half, and a dozen fellows lamed. And last year a fel- 
low had his leg broken.” 

Tom listened with the profoundest respect to this chap- 
ter of accidents, and followed East across the level ground 
till they came to a sort of gigantic gallows of two poles 
eighteen feet high, fixed upright in the ground some four- 
teen feet apart, with a cross-bar running from one to the 
other at the height of ten feet or thereabouts. 

“ This is one of the goals,” said East, “ and you see the 
other across there, right opposite, under the doctor’s w r all. 
Well, the match is for the best of the three goals; which- 
ever side kicks two goals wins, and it won’t do, you, see, 
just to kick the ball through the posts, it must go over 
the cross bar; any height’ll do, so long as it’s between the 
posts. You’ll have to stay in goal to touch the ball, when 
it rolls behind the posts, because if the other side touch it 
they have a try at goal. Then we fellows in quarters, we 
play just about in front of goal here, and have to turn the 
ball and kick it back before the big fellows on the other- 
side can follow it up. And in front of us all the big fel- 
lows play, and that’s where the scrimmages are mostly.” 

Tom’s respect increased as he struggled to make out his 
friend’s technicalities, and the other set to work to explain 
the mysteries of “ off your side,” “drop-kicks,” “ punts,” 


tom brown *s school-pays. 79 

64 places/’ and the other intricacies of the great science of 
football. 

“ But how do you keep the ball between the goals?” said 
he. “ 1 can’t see why it mightn’t go right down to t lie 
chapel.” 

“ Why, that’s out of play,” answered East. “ You see 
this gravel walk running down all along this side of the 
playing-ground, and the line of elms opposite on the other? 
Well, they’re the bounds. As soon as the ball gets past 
them, it’s in touch and out of play. And the one who first 
touches it, has to knock it straight out among the players- 
up, who make two lines with a space between them, every 
fellow going on his own side. Ain’t (here just fine scrim- 
mages then! and the three trees you see there which come 
out into the play, that’s a tremendous place when the ball 
hangs there, for you get thrown against the trees, and that’s 
worse than any hack.” 

Tom wondered within himself as they strolled back again 
toward the fives’-ccurt whether the matches were really 
such break-neck affairs as East represented, and whether, 
if they were, he should ever get to like them and play-up 
well. 

He hadn’t long to wonder, however, for next minute 
East cried out: 

“ Hurrah! here’s the punt-about; come along and try 
your hand at a kick!” 

The punt-about is the practice ball, which is just brought 
out and kicked about anyhow from one boy to another be- 
fore calling-over and dinner and at other odd times. They 
joined the boys who had brought it out, all small schooh 
house fellows, friends of East; and Tom had the pleasure of 
trying his skill, and peifonned very creditably, after first 
driving his foot three inches into the ground, and then 
nearly kicking his leg into the air, in vigorous efforts to 
accomplish a drop-kick after the manner of East. 

Presently more boys and bigger came out, and boys from 
other houses on their way to calling-over, and mure balls 
were sent for. The crowd thickened as three o’clock ap- 
proached; and when the hour struck, one hundred and 
fifty boy’s were hard at work. Then the balls were held, 
the master of the week came down in cap and gown to call- 
ing-over, and the whole school of three hundred boys 
swept into the big school to answer to their names. 


80 


TOM BROWN s S SCHOOL-BAYS. 


*' I may come in, mayn’t 1?” said Tom, catching East 
by the arm and longing to feel one of them. 

“ Yes, come along, nobody’ll say anything. You won’t 
be so eager to get into calling-over after a month,” replied 
his friend; and they marched into the big school together, 
and up to (he further end, where that illustrious form, the 
lower- fourth, which had the honor of East’s patronage for 
the time being, stood. 

The master mounted into the high desk by the door, and 
one of the praepostors of the week stood by him on the 
steps, the other three marching up and down the middle 
of the school with their canes, calling out, “ Silence! 
silence!” The sixth form stood close by the door on the 
left, some thirty in number, mostly great big grown men, 
as Tom thought, surveying them from a distance with awe. 
The fifth form behind them, twice their number and not 
quite so big. These on the left, and on the right the 
lower-fifth, shell, and all the junior forms in order; while 
up the middle marched the three praepostors. 

Then the praepostor who stands by the master calls out 
the names, beginning with the sixth form, and, as he calls, 
each boy answers “ Here ” to his name, and walks out. 
Some of the sixth stop at the door to turn the whole string 
of boys into the close; it is a great match day, and every 
boy in the school, willy-nilly, must be there. The rest of 
the sixth go forward into the close, to see that no one 
escapes by any of the side gates. 

To-day, however, being the school-house match, none of 
the school-house praepostors stay by the door to watch for 
truants of their side; there is carte blanche to the school- 
house fags to go where they like. 

“ They trust to our honor,” as East proudly informs 
Tom; “ they know very well that no school-house boy 
would cut the match. If he did, we’d very soon cut him, 
1 can tell you. ” 

The master of the week being short-sighted, and the 
praepostors of the week small and not well up to their 
work, the lower-school boys employ the ten minutes which 
elapse before their names are called in pelting one another 
vigorously with acorns, which fly about in all directions. 
The small praepostors dash in every now and then, and 
generally chastise some quiet, timid boy, who is equally 
afraid of acorns and canes, while the principal performers 


TOM BHOWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


81 


get dexterously out of the way; and so calling-over rolls 
on somehow, much like the big world, punishments light- 
ing on wrong shoulders, and matters going generally in a 
queer, cross-grained way, but the end coming somehow, 
which is, after all, the great point. And now the master of 
the week has finished, and locked up the big school; and 
the praepostors of the week come out, sweeping the last 
remnant of the school fags — who have been loafing about 
the corners by the fives'-court, in hopes of a chance of bolt- 
ing — before them into the close. 

“Hold the punt-about!" “To the goals!'* are the 
cries, and all stray balls are impounded by the authorities; 
and the whole mass of boys moves up toward the two 
goals, dividing as they go intp three bodies. That little 
band on the left, consisting of from fifteen to twenty boys, 
Tom among them, who are making for the goal under the 
school-house wall, are the school-house boys who are not to 
play-up, and have to stay in goal. The larger body mov- 
ing to the island goal, are the school-boys in a like predica- 
ment. The great mass in the middle are the players-up, 
both sides mingled together; they are hanging their jackets, 
and all who mean real work, their hats, waistcoats, neck- 
handkerchiefs, and braces, on the railings round the small 
trees; and there they go by twos and threes up to their re- 
spective grounds. There is none of the color or tastiness 
of get-up, you will perceive, which lends such a life to the 
present game at Rugby, making the dullest and worst 
fought match a pretty sight. Now each house has its own 
uniform of cap and jersey, of some lively color; but at the 
time we are speaking of plush caps had not yet come in, 
or uniforms of any sort, except the ' school-house white 
trousers, which are abominably cold to-day. Let us get to 
work, bare-headed and girded with our plain leather straps 
— but we mean business, gentlemen. 

And now that the two sides have fairly sundered and each 
occupies its own ground, and we get a good look at them, 
what absurdity is this? You don’t mean to say that those 
fifty or sixty boys in white trousers, many of them quite 
small, are going to play that huge mass opposite? Indeed 
I do, gentlemen; they're going to try, at any rate, and 
won't make such a bad fight of it either, mark my word; 
for hasn't old Brooke won the toss, with his lucky half- 
penny, and got choice of goals and kick-off? The new ball 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


82 

you may see lie there quite by itself, in the middle, point 
mg toward the school or island goal; in another minute it 
will be well on its way there. Use that minute in remark- 
ing how the school-house side is drilled. You will see in 
the first place, that the sixth-form boy, who has the charge 
of goal, has spread his force (the goal- keepers) so as to 
occupy the whole space behind the goal-posts, at distance 
of about five yards apart; a safe and well-kept goal is the 
foundation of all good play. Old Brooke is talking to the 
captain of quarters; and now he moves away; see how that 
youngster spreads his men (the light brigade) carefully 
over the ground, half-way between their own goal and the 
body of their own players-up (the heavy brigade). These 
again play in several bodies; there is young Brooke and 
the bull-dogs — mark them well — they are the “ fighting 
brigade,” the “ die-hards,” larking about at leap-frog to 
keep themselves warm and playing tricks on one another. 
And on each side of old Brooke, who is now standing in the 
middle of the ground and just going to kick off, you see a 
separate wing of players-up, each with a boy of acknowl- 
edged prowess to look to — here Warner, and there Hedge; 
but over all is old Brooke, absolute as he of Russia, but 
wisely and bravely ruling over willing and worshiping sub- 
jects, a true football king. His face is earnest and careful 
as he glances a last time over his array, but full of pluck 
and hope, the sort of look l hope to see in my general 
when 1 go out to fight. 

The school side is not organized in the same way. The 
goal-keepers are all in lumps, anyhow and nohow; you 
can’t distinguish between the players-up and the boys in 
quarters, aud there is divided leadership; but with such 
odds in strength and weight it must take more than that 
to hinder them from winning; and so their leaders seem 
to think, for they let the players-up manage themselves. 

But now look, there is a slight move forward of the 
school-house wings; a shout of “ Are you ready?” and 
loud affirmative reply. Old Brooke takes half a dozen 
quick steps, and away goes the ball spinning toward the 
school goal; seventy yards before it touches ground, and 
at no point above twelve or fifteen feet high, a model kick- 
off; and the school-house cheer and rush on; the ball is re- 
turned, and they meet it and drive it back among the 
masses of the school already in motion. Then the two 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


83 


sides close, and y®u can see nothing for minutes but a 
swaying crowd of boys, at one point violently agitated. 
That is where the ball is, and there are the keen players 
to be met, and the glory and the . hard knocks to be got; 
you hear the dull thud, thud of the ball, and the shouts of 
“ Off your side,” “ Down with him,” “ Put him over,” 
“ Bravo!” This is what we call a scrimmage, gentlemen, 
and the first scrimmage in a school-house match was no 
joke in the consulship of Plancus. 

But see! it has broken; the ball is driven out on the 
school-house side, and a rush of the school carries it past 
the school-house players-up. “ Look out in quarters,” 
Brooke’s and twenty other voices ring out; no need to 
call, though; the school-house captain of quarters has 
caught it on the bound, dodges the foremost school-boys, 
who are heading the rush, and sends it back with a good 
drop-kick well into the enemy’s country. And then follow 
rush upon rush, and scrimmage upon scrimmage, the ball 
now driven through into the school-house quarters, and 
now into the school goal; for the school -house have not 
lost the advantage which the kick-off and a slight wind 
ga^e them at the outset, and are slightly “ penning ” their 
adversaries. You say you don’t see much in it all; noth- 
ing but a struggling mass of boys, and a leather ball, which 
seems to excite them all to great fury, as a red rag does a 
bull. My dear sir, a battle would look much the same to 
you, except that the boys would be men, and the balls iron; 
but a battle would be worth your looking at for all that, 
and so is a football match. You can’t be expected to ap- 
preciate the delicate strokes of play, the turns by which a 
game is lost and won — it takes an old player to do that, 
but the broad philosophy of football you can understand if 
you will. Come along with me a little nearer, and let us 
consider it together. 

The ball has just fallen again where the two sides are 
thickest, and they close rapidly around it in a scrimmage; 
it must be driven through now by force or skill, till it 
flies out on one side or the other. Look how differently 
the boys face it! Here come two of the bull-dogs, bursting 
through the outsiders; in they go, straight to the heart of 
the scrimmage,, bent on driving that ball out on the oppo- 
site side. That is what they mean to do. My sons, my 
sons! you are too hot; you have gone past the ball, and 


84 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


mast struggle now right through the scrimmage, and get 
round and back again to your own side, before you can be 
of any further use. Here comes young Brooke; he goes 
in as straight as you, but keeps his head, and backs and 
bends, holding himself still behind the ball, and driving it 
furiously when he gets the chance. Take a leaf out of his 
book, you young chargers. Here comes Speedicut, and 
Flashman, the school-house bully, with shouts and great 
action. Won’t you two come up to young Brooke, after 
locking up, by the school-house fire, with “ Old fellow, 
wasn’t that just a splendid scrimmage by the three trees?” 
But he knows you, and so do we. You don’t really want 
to drive that ball through that scrimmage, chancing all 
hurt for the glory of the school-house — but to make us 
think that’s what you want — a vastly different thing; and 
fellows of your kidney will never go through more than the 
skirts of a scrimmage, where it’s all push and no kicking. 
We respect boys who keep out of it, and don’t sham going 
in; but you — we had rather not say what we think of you. 

Then the boys who are bending and watching on the 
outside, mark, them — they are most useful players, the 
dodgers; who seize on the ball the moment it rolls out 
from among the chargers, and away with it across to the 
opposite goal; they seldom go into the scrimmage, but 
must have more coolness than the chargers; as endless as 
are boys’ characters, so are their ways of facing or not fac- 
ing a scrimmage at football. 

Three quarters of an hour are gone; first winds are fail- 
ing, and weight and numbers beginning to tell. Yard by 
yard the school-house have been driven back, contesting 
every inch of ground. The bull-dogs are the color of 
mother earth from shoulder to ankle, except young Brooke 
who has a marvelous knack of keeping his legs. The 
school-house are being penned in their turn, and now the 
ball is behind their goal, under the doctor’s wall. The 
doctor and some of his family are there looking on, and 
seem as anxious as any boy for the success of the school- 
ziouse. We get a minute’s breathing time before old 
Brooke kicks out, and he gives the word to play strongly 
for touch, by the three trees. Away goes the ball, and the 
bull-dogs after it, and in another minute there is a shout 
of “In-touch.” “Our ball.” Now’s your time, old 
Hrooke, while your men are still fresh. He stands with 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


85 


the ball in his hand, while the two sides form in deep lines 
opposite each other; he must strike it straight out between 
them. Tne lines are thickest close to him, but young 
Brooke and two or three of his men are shifting up further, 
whore the opposite line is weak. Old Brooke strikes it out 
straight and strong, and it falls opposite his brother. Hur- 
rah: that rush has taken it right through the school line, 
and uway past the three trees, far into their quarters, and 
young Brooke and the bull-dogs are close upon it. The 
school leaders rush back shouting, “Lookout in goal!” 
and strain very nerve to catch him, but they are after the 
fleetest foot in Kugby. There they go straight for the 
school goal-posts, quarters scattering before them. One 
after another the bull-dogs go down, but young Brooke 
holds on. “ He is down!” No! a long stagger, and the 
danger is past; that was the shock of Crew, the most dan- 
gerous of dodgers. And now he is close to the school goal, 
the ball not three yards before him. There is a hurried 
rush of the school fags to the spot, but no one throws him- 
self on the ball, the only chance, and young Brooke has 
touched it right under the school goal-posts. 

The school leaders come up furious, and administer toco 
to the wretched fags nearest at bund ; they may well be 
angry, for it is all Lombard Street to a china orange that 
the school-house kick a goal with the ball touched in such 
a good place. Old Brooke of course will kick it out, but 
who shall catch and place it? Call Crab Jones. Here he 
comes, sauntering along with a straw in his mouth, the 
queerest, coolest fish in Kugby; if he were tumbled into 
the moon this minute, he would just pick himself up with- 
out taking his hands out of his pockets or turning a hair. 
But it is a moment when the boldest charger’s heart beats 
quick. Old Brooke stands with the ball under his arm 
motioning the school back; lie will not kick our until they 
are all in goal, behind the posts; they are ali edging for- 
ward, inch by inch, to get nearer for the rush at Crab 
Jones, who stands there in front of old Brooke to catch the 
ball. If they can reach and destroy him before he catches, 
the danger is over; and with one and the same rush they 
will carry it right away to the school-house goal, iond 
hope! it is kicked out and caught beautifully. Crab strides 
his heel into the ground, to mark the spot where the ball 
was caught, beyond which the school line may not advance; 


86 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


but there they stand, five deep, ready to rush the moment 
the ball touches the ground. Take plenty of room! don’t 
give the rush a chance of reaching you! place it true and 
steady! Trust Crab Jones — he has made a small hole with 
his heel for the ball to lie on, by which he is resting on one 
knee, with his eye on old Brooke. “ Few!” Crab places 
the ball at the word, old Brooke kicks, and it rises slowly 
and truly as the school rush forward. 

Then a moment’s pause, while both sides look up at 
the spinning ball. There it flies, straight between the 
two posts, some five feet above the cross-bar, an un- 
questioned goal; and a shout of real genuine joy rings out 
from the school-house players-up, and a faint echo of it 
comes over the close from the goal-keepers under the doc- 
tor’s wall. A goal in the first hour — such a thing hasn’t 
been done in the school-house match this five years. 

“ Over!” is the cry; the two sides change goals, and 
the school-house goal-keepers come threading their way 
across through the masses of the school; the most openly 
triumphant of them, among whom is Tom, a school-house 
boy of two hours standing, getting their ears boxed in the 
transit. Tom indeed is excited beyond measure, and it is 
all the sixth-form boy, kindest and safest of goal-keepers, 
has been able to do, to keep him from rushing out when- 
ever the ball has been near their goal. So he holds him 
by his side, and instructs him in the scieuce of touching. 

At this moment Griffith, the itinerant vender of oranges 
Irom Hill Morton, enters the close with his heavy baskets; 
there is a rush of small boys upon the little pale-faced man, 
the two sides miugling together, subdued by the great god- 
dess Thirst, like the English and French by the streams in 
the Pyrenees. The leaders are past oranges and apples, 
but some cf them visit their coats, and apply innocent- 
looking ginger-beer bottles to their mouths, it is no gin- 
ger-beer though I fear, and will do you no good. One 
short mad rush, and then a stitch in the side, and no more 
honest play; that’s what comes of those bottles. 

But now Griffith’s baskets are empty, the ball is placed 
again midway, and the school is going to kick off. Their 
leaders have sent their lumber into goal, and rated the 
rest soundly, and one hundred and twenty picked players- 
up are there, bent on retrieving the game. The) are to 
keep the bull in front cf the school-house goal, and then 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


87 


to drive it in by sheer strength and weight. They mean 
heavy play and no mistake, and so old Brooke sees; and 
places Crab Jones in quarters just before the goal, with 
four or five picked players, who are to keep the ball away 
to the sides, where a try at goal, if obtained, will be less 
dangerous than in front. He himself, and Warner and 
Hedge, who have saved themselves till now, will lead the 
charges. 

“Are you ready?’’ “Yes.” And away comes the 
ball kicked high in the air, to give the school time to rush 
on and catch it as it falls. And here they are among us. 
Meet them like Englishmen, you school-house boys, and 
charge them home. Now is the time to show what metal 
is in you— and there shall be a warm seat by the hall fire, 
and honor, and lots of bottled beer to-night, for him who 
does his duty in the next half hour. And they are all well 
met. Again and again the cloud of their players-up gather 
before the goal, and comes threatening on, and Warner or 
Hedge, with young Brooke and the relics of the bull-dogs, 
break through and carry the ball back; and old Brooke 
ranges the field like Job’s war-horse, the thickest scrim- 
mage parts asunder before his rush, like the waves before 
a clipper’s bows; his cheery voice rings over the field, and 
his eye is everywhere. And if these miss the ball, and it 
rolls dangerously in front of our goal, Crab Jones and hi3 
men have seized it and sent it away toward the sides with 
the unerring drop-kick. This is worth living for; the 
whole sum of school-boy existence gathered up into one 
straining, struggling half hour, a half hour worth a year 
of common life. 

The quarter to five has struck, and the play slackens for 
a minute before goal; but there is Crew, the artful dodger, 
driving the ball in behind our goal, on the island side, 
where our quarters are weakest. Is there no one to meet 
him? Yes! look at little East! the ball is just at equal 
distances between the two, and they rush together, the 
young man of seventeen and the boy of twelve, and kick it 
at the same moment. Crew passes on without a stagger; 
East is hurled forward by the shock, and plunges on his 
shoulders, as if he would bury himself in the ground; but 
the ball rises straight into the air,. and falls behind Crew’s 
back, while the “ bravos ” of the school-house attest the 
pluckiest charge of all that hard-fought day. Warner 


88 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


picks East up lame and half shinned, and he hobbles back 
into goal, conscious of having pla} 7 ed the man. 

And now the last minutes are come, and the school 
gather for their last rush, every boy of the hundred and 
twenty who has a run left in him. Keck less of the defense 
of their own goal, on they come across the level big-side 
ground, the ball well down among them, straight for our 
goal, like the column of the Oid Guard up the slope at 
Waterloo. All ‘former charges have been child’s play to 
this. Warner and Hedge have met them, but still on they 
come. The bull-dogs rush in for the last time; they are 
hurled over or carried back, striving hand, foot, and eye- 
lids. Old Brooke comes sweeping round the skirts of the 
play, and, turning short round, picks out the very heart 
of the scrimmage, and plunges in. It wavers for a mo- 
ment — he has the ball! No, it has passed him, and his 
voice rings out clear over the advancing tide, “ Look out 
in goal.” Crab Jones catches it for a moment; but be- 
fore he can kick, the rush is upon him and passes over him; 
and he picks himself up behind them with his straw in his 
mouth, a little dirtier, but as cool as ever. 

The bail rolls slowly in behind the school-house goal, 
not three yards in front of a dozen of the biggest school 
players- up. 

There stand the school-house praepostor, safest of goal- 
keepers, and Tom Brown by his side, who has learned his 
trade by this time. Now is your time, Tom. The blood 
of all the Browns is up, and the two rush in together, and 
throw themselves on the ball, under the very feet of the 
advancing column; the praepostor on his hands and 
knees arching his back, and Tom all along on his face. 
Over them topple the leaders of the rush, shooting over 
the back of the praepostor, but falling flat on Tom, and 
knocking all the wind out of his small carcass. “ Our 
ball,” says the praepostor, rising with his prize; “ but get 
up there, there’s a little fellow under you.” They are 
hauled and rolled off him, and Tom is discovered a mo- 
tionless body. 

Old Brooke picks him up. “ Stand back, give him 
air,” he says; and then feeling his limbs, adds, “No 
bones broken. How do you feel, young un?” 

“ Hah! hah!” gasps Tom, as his wind comes back, 
“ pretty well, thank you — all right,” 


TOM BROWN ’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


89 


“ Who is he?” says Brooke. 

“Oh, it’s Brown; he’s a new bpy; I know him,” says 
Bast, coming up. 

“ Well, he is a plucky youngster, and will make a 
player,” says Brooke. 

And five o’clock strikes. “ No side,” is called, and the 
first day of the school-house match is over. 


CHAPTER VI. 

AFTER THE MATCH. 

Some food we had. 

Shakespeare. 
t ]8 7 TOTOS advs — Theocr. Id. 

As the boys scattered away from the ground, and East, 
leaning on Tom’s arm, and limping along, was beginning 
to consider what luxury they should go and buy for tea to 
celebrate that glorious victory, the two Brookes came strid- 
ing by. Old Brooke caught sight of East, and stopped, 
put his hand kindly on his shoulder, and said, “ Bravo, 
youngster, you played famously; not much the matter, 1 
hope?” 

“No, nothing at all,” said East, “only a little twist 
from that charge.” 

“ Well, mind and get all right for next Saturday;” and 
the leader passed on, leaving East better for those few 
words than all the opodeldoc in England would have 
made him, and Tom ready to give one of his ears for as 
much notice. Ah! light words of those whom we love and 
honor, what a power ye are, and how carelessly wielded by 
those who can use you! Surely for these things also God 
will ask an account. 

“ Tea’s directly after locking-up, you see,” said East, 
hobbling along as fast as he could, “ so you come along 
down to Sally Harrowell’s; that’s our school-house tick 
shop — she bakes such stunning Murphies, we’ll have a 
penn’orth each for tea; come along, or they’ll all be 
gone.” 

Tom’s new purse and money burned in his pocket; he 
wondered, as they toddled through the quadrangle and 
along the street, whether Bast would be insulted if he sug- 


90 


tom brown’s school-days. 


gested further extravagance, as he had not sufficient faith 
in a pennyworth of potatoes. At Jast he blurted out: 

“ I say, East, can’t we get something else besides pota- 
toes? I’ve got lots of money, you know.” 

“ Bless us, yes, I forgot,” said East, “ you’ve only just 
come. You see all my tin’s been gone these twelve 
weeks, it hardly ever lasts beyond the first fortnight; and 
allowances were all stopped this morning for broken 
windows, so I haven’t got a penny. I’ve got a tick at 
Sally’s, of course; but then 1 hate running it high, you 
see, toward the end of the half, ’cause one has to shell 
out for it all directly one comes back, and that’s a bore.” 

Tom didn’t understand much of this talk, but seized on 
the fact that East had no money, and was denying himself 
some little pet luxury in consequence. “Well, what 
shall I buy?” said he; “ I’m uncommon hungry.” 

“ I say,” said East, stopping to look at him and rest 
his leg, “ you’re a trump. Brown. I’ll do the same by 
you next half. Let’s have a pound of sausages, then; 
that’s the best grub for tea I know of.” 

“ Very well,” said Tom, as pleased as possible; “ where 
do they sell them?” 

“ Oh, over here, just opposite;” and they crossed the 
street and walked into the cleanest little front room of a 
small house, half parlor, half shop, and bought a pound of 
the most particular sausages. East talking pleasantly to 
Mrs. Porter while she put them in paper, and Tom doing 
the paying part. 

Prom Porter’s they adjourned to Sally Harro well’s, 
where they found a lot of school-house boys waiting for 
the roast potatoes, and relating their own exploits in the 
day’s match at the top of their voices. The street opened 
at once into Sally’s kitchen, a low, brick-floored room, 
with a large recess for fire, and chimney-corner seats. Poor 
little Sally, the most good-natured and much enduring of 
womankind, was bustling about with a napkin in her hand, 
from her own oven to those of the neighbors’ cottages, up 
the yard at the back of the house. Stumps, her husband, 
a short, easy-going shoe-maker, with a beery, humorous 
eye and ponderous calves, who lived mostly on his wife’s 
earnings, stood in a corner of the room, exchanging shots 
of (he roughest description of repartee with every boy in 
turn. “ Stumps, you lout, you’ve had too much beer 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


91 


again to-day.” “ ’T wasn’t of your paying for, then. ” — 
“ Stump’s calves are running down into his ankles, they 
want to get grass.” — “ Better be doing that, than gone al- 
together, like yours,” etc., etc. Very poor stuff it was, but 
it served to make time pass; and every nowand then Sally 
arrived in the middle with a smoking tin of potatoes, 
which were cleared off in a few seconds, each boy as he 
seized his lot running off to the house with “ Put me 
down two-penn’orth, Sally;” “ Put down three-penn’orth, 
between me and Davis,” etc. How she ever kept the ac- 
counts so straight as she did, in her head and on her slate, 
was a perfect wonder. 

East and Tom got served at last, and started back for 
the school-house just as the Jocking-up bell began to ring, 
East on the way recounting the life and adventures of 
Stumps, who was a character. Among his other small 
avocations, he was the hind carrier of a sedan-chair, the last 
of its race, in which the Rugby ladies still went out to tea, 
and in which, when he was fairly harnessed and carrying 
a load, it was the delight of small and mischievous boys to 
follow him and whip his calves. This was too much for 
the temper even of Stumps, and he would pursue his tor- 
mentors in a vindictive and apoplectic maimer when re- 
leased, but was easily pacified by twopence to buy beer with. 

The lower school-boys of the school-house, some fifteen 
in number, had tea in the lower fifth school, and were 
presided over by the old verger or head-porter. Each boy 
had a quarter of a loaf of bread and a pat of butter, and 
as much tea as he pleased; and there was scarcely one who 
didn’t add to this some further luxury, such as baked pota- 
toes, a herring, sprats, or something of the sort; but few, 
at this period of the half year, could live up to a pound of 
Porter’s sausages, and East was in great magnificence 
upon the strength of theirs. He had produced a toasting- 
fork from his study, and set Tom to toast the sausages, 
while he mounted guard over their butter and potatoes; 
“ ’cause,” as he explained, “ you’re a new boy and they’ll 
play you some trick and get our butter; but you can toast 
just as well as I.” So Tom, in the midst of three or four 
more urchins similarly employed, toasted his face and the 
sausages at the same time before the huge fire, till the 
latter cracked, when East, from his watch-tower, shouted 
that they were done; and then the feast proceeded, and the 


92 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


festive cups of tea were filled and emptied, and Tom im~ 
parted of the sausages in small bits to many neighbors, 
and thought he had never tasted such good potatoes or 
seen such jolly boys. They on their parts waived all cere- 
mony, and pegged away at the sausages and potatoes, and 
remembering Tom’s performance in goal, voted East’s 
new crony a brick. After tea, and while the things were 
being cleared away, they gathered round the fire, and the 
talk on the match still went on; and those who had them 
to show, pulled up their trousers and showed the hacks 
they had received in the good cause. 

They were soon, however, all turned out of the school, 
and East conducted Tom up to his bedroom, that he might 
get on clean things and wash himself before singing. 

“ What’s singing?” said Tom, taking his head out of his 
basin, where he had been plunging it in cold water. 

“ Well, you are jolly green,” answered his friend from 
a neighboring basin. “ Why, the last six Saturdays of 
every half we sing, of course; and this is the first of them. 
No first lesson to do, you know, and lie in bed to-morrow 
morning.” 

“ But who sings?” 

“ Why, everybody, of course; you’ll see soon enough. We 
begin directly after supper, and sing till bed-time. It ain’t 
such good fun now, though, as in the summer half, ’cause 
then we sing in the little fives’-court, under the library, 
you know. We take our tables, and the big boys sit 
round, and drink beer; double allowance on Saturday 
nights; and we cut about the quadrangle between the 
songs, and it looks like a lot of robbers in a cave. And 
the louts come and pound at the great gates, and we pound 
back again, and shout at them. But this half we only sing 
in the hall. Come along down to my study.” 

Their principal employment in the study was to clear 
out East’s table, removing the drawers and ornaments and 
table-cloth; for he lived in the bottom passage, and his 
table was in requisition for the singing. 

Supper came in due course at seven o’clock, consisting of 
bread and cheese and beer, which was all saved for the sing- 
ing; and directly afterward the fags went to work to pre- 
pare the hall. The school-house hall, as has been said, is 
a great long high room, with two large fires on one side, and 
two large iron-bound tables, one running down the middle, 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


93 


ami the other along the wall opposite the fire-places. 
Around the upper fire the fags placed the tables in the 
form of a horse-shoe, and upon them I he jogs with the 
Saturday night’s allowance of beer. Then the big boys 
used to drop in and take their seats, bringing with them 
bottled beer and song-books; for although they all knew 
the songs by heart it was the thing to have an old manu- 
script book descended from some departed hero, in which 
they were all carefully written out. 

The sixth-form boys had not yet appeared; so, to fill up 
the gap, an interesting and time-honored ceremony was 
gone through. Each new boy is placed on the table in 
turn, and made to sing a solo, under the penalty of drink- 
ing a large mug of salt and water if he resisted or broke 
down. However, the new boys all sing like nightingales 
to-night, and the salt water is not in requisition; Tom, as 
his part, performing the old west-country song of “ The 
Leather Bottel ” with considerable applause. And at the 
half hour down come the sixth and fifth-form boys and 
take their places at the tables, which are filled up by the 
next biggest boys, the rest, for whom there is no room at 
the table, standing round outside. 

The glasses and mugs are filled, and then the fugleman 
strikes up the old sea-song: 

“ A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 

And a wind that follows fast,” etc. 

which is the invariable first song in the school-house, and 
all the seventy voices join in, not mindful of harmony, but 
bent on noise, which they attain decidedly; but the general 
effect isn’t bad. And then follow the “British Grena- 
diers,” “ Billy Taylor,” “The Siege of Seringapatam,” 
“ Three Jolly Post-boys,” and other vociferous songs in 
rapid succession, including the “Chesapeake and Shan- 
non,” a song lately introduced in honor of old Brooke; and 
when they come to the words — 

“Brave Brooke! he waved his sword, crying, ‘Now my lads, 
aboard, 

And we’ll stop their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy oh!’ ” 

you expect the roof to come down. The sixth and fifth know 
that “ brave Brooke ” of the “ Shannon” was no sort of 
relation to our old Brooke. The fourth-form are uncertain 
in their belief, but for the most part hold that old Brooke 


94 TOM BttOWtt’s school-days. 

was a midshipman then on board his ancle’s ship. And tne 
lower school never doubt for a moment that it was our old 
Brooke who led the boarders, in what capaoil y they care not a 
straw. During the pauses the bottled-beer corks fly rap- 
idly, and the talk is fast and merry, and the big boys, at 
least all of them who have a fellow-feeling for dry throats, 
hand their mugs over their shoulders to be emptied by the 
small ones who stand round behind. 

Then Warner, the head of the house, gets up and wants 
to speak, but he can’t, for every boy knows what’s coming, 
and the big boys who sit at the tables pound them and 
cheer; and the small boys who stand behind pound one 
another, and cheer, and rush about the hall cheering. Then 
silence being made, Warner reminds them of (lie old school- 
house custom of drinking the healths, on the first night of 
singing, of those who are going to leave at the end of the 
half. “ He sees that they know what he is going to say 
already — (loud cheers) — and so won’t keep them, but only 
asks them, to treat the toast as it deserves. It is the head 
of the eleven, the head of big-side football, their leader on 
this glorious day — Pater Brooke!” 

And away goes the pounding and cheering again, becom- 
ing deafening when old Brooke gets on his legs, till a table 
having broken down, and a gallon or so of beer been upset, 
and all throats getting dry, silence ensues, and the hero 
speaks, leaning his hands on the table, and bending a little 
forward. No action, no tricks of oratory; plain, strong 
and straight, like his play. 

“ Gentlemen of the school-house! I am very proud of 
the way in which you have received my name, and I wish 
I could say all I should like to in return. But I know I 
sha’u’t. However, I’ll do the best I can to say what seems to 
me ought to be said by a fellow who’s just going to leave, 
and who has spent a good slice of his life here. Eight 
years it is, and eight such years as I can never hope to 
have again. So now I hope you’ll all listen to me — (loud 
cheers of 4 that we will ’) — for I’m going to talk seriously. 
You’re bound to listen to me; for what’s the use of calling 
me 4 pater and all that, if you don’t mind what I say? 
And I’m going to talk seriously because I feel so. It’s a 
jolly time, too, getting to the end of the half, and a goal 
kicked by us the first day — (tremendous applause) — after 
one of the hardest and fiercest day’s play I can remember 


TOM BfiOWlTS SCHOOL-BAYS. 


95 


in eight years — (frantic shoutings). The school played 
splendidly, too, I will say, and kept it up to the last. The 
last charge of theirs would hare carried away a house. I 
never thought to see anything again of old Crab there, 
except little pieces, when 1 saw lun tumbled over by it — 
(laughter and shouting, and great slapping on the back of 
Jones by the boys nearest him). Well, but we beat 'em 
— (cheers). Ay, but why did we beat 'em? Answer me 
that — (shouts of ‘ your play '). Nonsense! 'Twasn't the 
wind and kick-off either— that wouldn’t do it. ' Twasn’t 
because we've half a dozen of the best players in the school, 
as we have. 1 wouldn’t change Warner, aud Hedge, and 
Crab, and the young un, for any six on their side — (violent 
cheers). But half a dozen fellows can't keep it up for two 
hours against two hundred. Why is it, theu? I’ll tell 
you what I think. It’s because we've more reliance on one 
another, more of a house feeling, more fellowship than the 
school can haye. Each of us knows and can depend on his 
next hand man better — that's why we beat 'em to-day. 
We've union, they’ve divisions — there's the secret — 
(cheers). But how is this to be kept up? How's it to be im- 
proved? That's the question. For I take it, we're all in 
earnest about beating the school, whatever else we care 
about. I know I’d sooner win two school-house matches 
running than get the Balliol scholarship any day — (frantic 
cheers). 

“ Now I'm as proud of the house as any one. I believe 
it's the best house in the school, out-and-out — (cheers). 
But it is a long way from what 1 want to see it. First, 
there's a deal of bullying going on. I know it well. I don't 
pry about and interfere; that only makes it more under- 
hand, and encourages the small boys to come to us with 
their fingers in their eyes telling tales, and so we should be 
worse off than ever. Jt's very little kindness for the sixth 
to meddle generally— you youngsters, mind that. You'll 
be all the better foot-ball players for learning to stand it 
and to take your own parts, and fight it through. But de- 
pend on it, there’s nothing breaks up a house like bully- 
ing. Bullies are cowards, and one coward makes many; so 
good-bye to the school-house match if bullying gets ahead 
here. (Loud applause from the small boys, who look 
meaningly at Flasham and the other boys at the tables.) 
Then there's fuddling about in the public houses, and 


96 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


drinking bad spirits, and punch, and such rot-gut stuff. 
That won’t make good drop-kicks or chargers of you, take 
my word for it. You get plenty of good beer here, and 
that is enough for you; and drinking isn’t fine or manly, 
whatever some of you may think of it. 

“ One other thing I must have a word about. A lot of 
you think and say, for I’ve heard you — ‘ There’s this new 
doctor hasn’t been here so long as some of us, and he’s 
changing all the old customs. Eugby, and the school- 
house especially, are going to the dogs. Stand up for the 
good old ways, and down with the doctor!’ Now I’m as 
fond of old Eugby customs and ways^as any of you, and I’ve 
been here longer than any of you, and I’ll give you a word 
of advice in time, for 1 shouldn’t like to see any of you 
getting sacked. ‘ Down with the doctor!’ is easier said 
than done. You’ll find him pretty tight on his perch, 
I take it, and an awkwardish customer to handle in that 
line. Besides, now, what customs has he put down? 
There was the good old custom of taking the linch-pins out 
of the farmers’ and bagmen’s gigs at the fairs, and a 
cowardly blackguard custom it was. We all know what 
came of it; and no wonder the doctor objected to it. But, 
come now, any of you, name a custom that he has put 
down.” 

“ The hounds,” calls out a fifth-form boy, clad in a 
green cutaway with brass buttons, and cord trousers, the 
leader of the sporting interest, and reputed a great rider 
and keen hand generally. 

“ Well, we had six or seven mangy harriers and beagles 
belonging to the house, I’ll allow, and had had them for 
years, and that the doctor put them down. But what 
good ever came of them? Only rows with all the keepers 
for ten miles round, and big-side hare and hounds is better 
fun ten times over. What else?” 

No answer. 

“ Well, I won’t go on. Think it over for yourselves; 
you’ll find, 1 believe, that he don’t meddle with any one 
that’s worth keeping. And mind now, I say again, look 
out for squalls, if you will go your own way, and that way 
ain’t the doctor’s, for it’ll lead to grief. You all know 
that I’m not the fellow to back a master through thick 
and thin. If I saw him stopping football, or cricket, or 
bathing, or sparring, I’d be as ready as any fellow to stand 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


97 


ap about it. But he don’t — he encourages them; didn’t 
you see him out to-day for half an hour watching us? (loud 
cheers for the doctor); and he’s a strong, true man, and a 
wise one, too, and a public-school man, too. (Cheers.) 
And so let’s stick to him, and talk no more rot, and drink 
his heal tli as the head of the house. (Loud cheers.) And 
now I’ve done blowing up, and very glad 1 am to have 
done. But it’s a solemn thing to be thinking of leaving a 
piace which one has lived in and loved for eight years; and 
if one can say a word for the good of the old house at such 
a time, why, it should be said, whether bitter or sweet. 
If I hadn’t been proud of the house and you— ay, no one 
knows how proud — I shouldn’t be blowing you up. And 
now let’s get to singing. But before I sit down I must 
give you a toast to be drunk with three-times-three and all 
the honors. It’s a toast which I hope every one of us, 
wherever he may go hereafter, will never fail to drink 
when he thinks of the brave bright days of his boyhood. 
It’s a toast which should bind us all together, and to those 
who’ve gone before and who’ll come after us here. It is 
the dear old school-house — the best house of the best school 
in England!” 

My dear boys, old and young, you who have belonged, 
or do belong to other schools and other houses, don’t begin 
throwing my poor little book about the room, and abusing 
me and it, and vowing you’ll read no more when you get 
to this point. 1 allow you’ve provocation for it. But, 
come now — would you, any of you, give a fig for a fellow 
who didn’t believe in, and stand up for his own house and 
his own school? You know you wouldn’t. Then don’t 
object to my cracking up the old school-house, Rugby. 
Haven’t I a right to do it, when I’m taking all the trouble 
of writing this true history for all your benefits? If you 
ain’t satisfied, go and write the history of your own houses 
in your own times and say all y&u know for your own 
schools and houses, provided it’s true, and I’ll read it 
without abusing you. 

The last few words hit the audience in their weakest 
place; they had been not altogether enthusiastic at several 
parts of old Brooke’s speech; but “ the best house of the 
best school in England ” was too much for them all, and 
carried even the sporting and drinking interest off their 
legs into rapturous applause and, fK is to be hoped, reso- 


98 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


lutions to lead a new life and remember old Brooke’s words; 
which, however, they didn’t altogether do, as will appear 
hereafter. 

But it required all old Brooke’s popularity to carry down 
parts of his speech; especially that relating to the doctor. 
For there are no such bigoted holders by established forms 
and customs, be they never so foolish or meaningless, as 
English school-boys — at least, as the school -boy of our 
generation. We magnified into heroes every boy who had 
left, and looked upon him with awe aud reverence, when 
he revisited the place a year or so afterward, on his way to 
or from Oxford or Cambridge; and happy was the boy who 
remembered him, and sure of an audience as he expounded 
what he used to do and say, though it were sad enough 
stuff to make angels not to say head-masters weep. 

We looked upon every trumpery little custom and habit 
which had obtained in the school a3 though it had been a 
law of the Medes and Persians, and regarded the infringe- 
ment or variation of it as a sort of sacrilege. And the doc- 
tor, than whom no man or boy had a stronger liking for 
old school customs which were good and sensible, had, as 
has already been hinted, come into most decided collision 
with several which were neither the one nor the other. 
And as old Brooke, had said, when he came into collision 
with boys or customs, there was nothing for them but to 
give in or take themselves off; because what he said had to 
be done, and no mistake about it. And this was beginning 
to be pretty clearly understood; the boys felt that there 
was a strong man over them, who would have things his 
own way; and hadn’t yet learned that he was a wise and 
loving man also. His personal character and influence had 
not had time to make itself felt, except by a very few of 
the bigger boys, with whom he came more directly in con- 
tact; and he was looked upon with great fear and dislike 
by the great majority even of his own house. For he ha 1 
found school and school-house in a state of monstrous 
license and misrule, and was still employed in the necessary 
but unpopular work of setting up order with a strong 
hand. 

However, as has been said, old Brooke triumphed and 
the boys cheered him', and then the doctor. And then 
more songs came, and the healths of the other boys about 
to leave, who each male a speech, one flowery, another 


TOM I>ROWN*S school-days. 


9 . 


maudlin, a third prosy, and so on, which are not necessary 
to be here recorded. 

Half past nine struck in the middle of the performance 
of “ Auld Lang Syne,” a most obstreperous proceeding; 
during which there was an immense amount of standing 
with one foot on the table, knooking'mugs together and 
shaking hands, without which accompaniments it seems 
impossible for the youth of Britain to take part in that fa- 
in ms old song. ’The under-porter of the school-house en- 
tered during the performance, bearing five or six long 
w oden candlesticks, with lighted dips in them, which he 
proceeds'll to stick into their holes in such part of the great 
tables as he could get at; and then stood outside the ring 
till the end of the song, when he was hailed with shouts. 

“Bill, you old muff, the half hour hasn’t struck.” 
“ Here, Bill, drink some cocktail.” “ Sing us a song, 
old boy.” “ Don’t you wish you may get the table?” 
Bill drank the proffered cocktail not unwillingly, and put- 
ting down the empty glass, remonstrated: 

“ Now, gentlemen, there’s only ten minutes to prayers, 
and we must get the hall straight.” 

“ Shouts of “ No, no!” and a violent effort to strike up 
“ Billy Taylor ” for the third time. Bill looked appeal- 
ingly to old Brooke, who got up and stopped the noise. 

“ Now, then, lend a hand, you youngsters, and get the 
tables back; clear away the jugs and glasses. Bill’s right. 
Open the wiudows, Warner.” 

The boy addressed, who sat by the long ropes, proceeded 
to pull up the great windows, and let in a clear fresh rush 
of night-air, which made the candles flicker and gutter, 
and the fires roar. The circle broke up, each collaring his 
own jug, glass, and song-book; Bill pounced on the big 
table, and began to rattle it away to its place outside the 
buttery-door. The lower-passage boys carried off their 
sm ill tables, aided by their friends, while above all, stand- 
ing on the great hall-table, a knot of untiring sons of har- 
mony made night doleful by a prolonged performance of 
“ God save the King,” His Majesty King William IV. 
then reigned over us, a monarch deservedly popular among 
the boys addicted to melody, to whom he was chiefly known 
from the beginning of that excellent, if slightly vulgar, 
song in which they much delighted — 


IOC 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


Come, neighbors all, both great and small. 

Perform your duties here, 

And loudly sing “ live Billy our king, 

For bating the tax on beer.” 

Others of the more learned in songs also celebrated his 
praises in a sort of ballad, which I take to have been writ- 
ten by some Irish loyalist. 1 have forgotten all but the 
chorus, which ran: 

God save nur good King William, be his name forever blessed; 

He’s the father of all his people, and the guardian of all the rest. 

In troth, we were loyal subjects in those days, in a rough 
way. I trust that our successors make as much of her 
present majesty, and having regard to the greater refine- 
ment of the times, have adopted or written other songs 
equally hearty, but more civilized, in her honor. 

Then the quarter to ten struck, and the prayer-bell rang. 
The sixth and fifth-form boys ranged themselves in their 
school order along the wall, on either side of the great 
fires, the middle fifth and upper-school boys round the long 
table in the middle of the hall, and the lower-school boys 
round the upper part of the second long table, which ran 
down the side of the hall furthest from the fires. Here 
Tom found himself at the bottom of all, in a state of mind 
and body not at all fit for prayers, as he thought; and so 
tried hard to make himself serious, but couldn't, for the 
life of him, do anything but repeat in his head the choruses 
of some of the songs, and stare at all the boys opposite, 
wondering at the brilliancy of their waistcoats, and specu- 
lating what sort of fellows they were. The steps of the 
head-porter are heard on the stairs, and light gleams at 
the door. “Hush!" from the fifth-form boys who stand 
there, and then in strides the doctor, cap on head, book in 
one hand, and gathering up his gown in the other. He 
walks up the middle, and takes his post by Warner, who 
begins calling over the names. The doctor takes no notice 
of anything, but quietly turns over his book and finds the 
place, and then stands, cap in hand and finger in book, 
looking straight before his nose. He knows better than 
any one when to look, and when to see nothing; to-night 
is singing night; and there's been lots of noise and no 
harm done; nothing but beer drunk, and nobody the worse 
for it; though some of them do look hot and excited. So 


- TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


10J 


the doctor sees nothing, but fascinates Tom in a horrible 
manner as he stands there, and reads out the psalm in thai 
deep, ringing, searching voice of his. Prayers are over, 
and Torn still stares open-mouthed after the doctor's retire 
ing figure, when he feels a pull at his sleeve, and turning 
around sees East. 

“ I say, were you ever tossed in a blanket?" 

“ No," said Tom. “ Why?" 

“ 'Cause there'll be tossing to-night, most likely, before 
the sixth come up to bed. So if you funk, you just come 
along and hide, or else they'll catch you and toss you." 

“ Were you ever tossed? Does it hurt?" inquired Tom. 

“ Oh, yes, bless you, a dozen times," said East, as ho 
hobbled along by Tom's side upstairs. “ It don't hurt 
unless you fall on the floor. But most fellows don't like 
it." 

They stopped at the fire-place in the top passage, where 
were a crowd of small boys whispering together, and evi- 
dently unwilling to go into the bedrooms. In a minute, 
however, a study-door opened,, and a sixth-form boy came 
out, and off they all scuttled up the stairs, and then noise- 
lessly dispersed to their different rooms. Tom's heart beat 
rather quick as he and East reached their room, but he had 
made up his mind. “ I sha'n't hide, East," said he. 

“ Very well, old fellow," replied East, evidently pleased, 
“ no more shall I — they'll be here for us directly." 

The room was a great big one, with a dozen beds in it, 
but not a boy that Tom could see, except East and him- 
self. East pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and then sat 
on the bottom of his bed, whistling, and pulling off his 
boots; Tom followed his example. 

A noise and steps are heard in the passage, the door 
opens, and in rush four or five great fifth-form boys, 
headed by Flashman in his glory. 

Tom and East slept in the further corner of the room, 
and were not seen at first. 

“ Gone to ground, eh?" roared Flashman. “ Push 'em 
out then, boys! Look under the beds;" and he pulled up 
the little white curtain of the one nearest him. “ Who-o- 
op!" he roared, pulling away at the leg of a small boy, 
who held on tight to the leg of the bed, and sung out 
lustily for mercy. “ Here, lend a baud, one of you, and 


102 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


help me pull out this young howling brute. Hold your 
tongue, sir, or I’ll kill you.” 

“ Oh, please, Flashman, please. Walker, don’t toss me! 
I’ll fag for you, I’ll do anything, only don’t toss me.” 

“ You be hanged!” said Flashman, lugging the wretched 
boy along; “ ’twon’t hurt you — you! Come along, boys, 
here he is. ” 

“ I say, Flashy,” sung out another of the big boys, 
“drop that; you heard what old Pater Brooke said to- 
night. I’ll be hanged if we’ll toss any one against their 
will— no more bullying. Let him go, I say!” 

Flashman, with an oath and a kick, released his prey, 
who rushed headlong under his bed again, for fear they 
should change their minds, and crept along underneath 
the other beds, till he got under that of the sixth-form 
boy, which he knew they daren’t disturb. 

“ There’s plenty of youngsters don’t care about it,” said 
Walker. “ Here, here’s Scud East — you’ll be tossed, 
won’t you, young ’un?” 

Scud was East’s nickname, or Black, as we called it, 
gained by his fleetness of foot. 

“ Yes,” said East, “ if you like, only mind my foot.” 

“ And here’s another who didn’t hide. Halloo! new 
boy; what’s your name sir?” 

“ Brown.” 

“ Well, Whitey Brown, you don’t mind being tossed?” 

“ No,” said Tom, setting his teeth. 

“ Come along then, boys,” sung out Walker; and away 
they all went, carrying along Tom and East, to the intense 
relief of four or five other small boys, who crept out from 
under the beds and behind them. 

“ What a trump Scud is!” said one. “ They won’t come 
back here now.” 

“ And that new boy, too; he must be a good-plucked 
one.” 

“ Ah! wait till he has been tossed on to the floor; see 
how he’ll like it then!” 

Meantime the procession went down the passage to Num- 
ber 7, the largest room, and the scene of tossing, in the 
middle of which was a great open space. Here they joined 
other parties of the bigger boys, each with a captive or two, 
some willing to be tossed, some sullen, and some frightened 


TOM brown’s school-days. 103 

to death. At AValker’s suggestion, all who were afraid 
were let off, in honor of Pater Brooke’s speech. 

Then a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket dragged 
from one of (he beds. 

“ In with Scud, quick! there’s no time to lose.” 

East was chucked into the blanket. “ Once, twice, 
thrice, and away!” up he went like a shuttlecock, but not 
quite up to the ceiling. 

“Now, boys, with a will!” cried Walker, “ once, twice, 
thrice, and away!” 

This time he went clean up, and kept himself from 
touching the ceiling with his hand; and so again a third 
time, when he was turned out, and up went another boy. 
And then came Tom’s turn. lie lay quite still, by East’s 
advice, and didn’t dislike the “ once, twice, thrice;” but 
the “ away ” wasn’t so pleasant. They were in good wind 
now, and sent him slap up to the ceiling the first time, 
against which his knees came rather sharply. But the 
moment’s pause before descending was the rub, the feeling 
of utter helplessness and of leaving his whole inside behind 
him sticking to the ceiling. Tom was very near shouting 
to be set down, when he found himself back in the blanket, 
but thought of East, and didn’t; and so took his three 
tosses without a kick or a cry, and was called a young 
trump for his pains. 

He and East, having earned it, stood now looking on. 
No catastrophe happened, as all the captives were cool 
hands, and didn’t struggle. This didn’t suit Flashman. 
What your real bully likes in tossing, is when the boys kick 
and struggle, or hold on to one side of the blanket, and so 
get pitched bodily on to the floor; it’s no fun to him when 
no one is hurt or frightened. 

“ Let’s toss two of them together, Walker,” suggest- 
ed he. 

“ What a cursed bully you are. Flashy!” rejoined the 
other. “ Up with another one : v 

And so no two boys were tossed together, the peculiar 
hardship of which is, that it’s too much for human nature 
to lie still then and share troubles; and so the wretched 
pair of small boys struggle in the air which shall fall a- top 
in the descent, to the no small risk of both falling out of 
the blanket, and the huge delight of brutes like Flashman. 
But now there’s a cry that the praepostor of the room is 


104 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


coming; so the tossing stops, and all scatter to their differ- 
ent rooms; and Tom is left to turn in, with the first day’s 
experience of a public school to meditate upon. 


CHAPTER VII. 

SETTLING TO THE COLLAR. 

Says Giles, “ Tis mortal hard to go 
Hut if so he’s I must, 

I means to follow arter he 
As goes hisself the fust.” 

Ballad. 

Everybody, 1 suppose, knows the dreamy, delicious 
state in which one lies, half asleep, half awake, while con- 
sciousness begins to return, after a sound night’s rest in a 
new place which we are glad to be in, following upon a day 
of unwonted excitement and exertion. There are few 
pleasanter pieces of life. The worst of it is that they last 
such a short time; for, nurse them as you will, by lying 
perfectly passive in mind and body, you can’t make more 
than five minutes or so of them. After which time, the 
stupid, obtrusive, wakeful entity which we call “ I,” as 
impatient as he is stiff-necked, spite of our teeth will force 
himself back again, and take possession of us down to our 
very toes. 

It was in this state that Master Tom lay at half past 
seven on the morning following the day of his arrival, and 
from his clean little white bed watched the movements of 
Bogle (the generic name by which the successive shoe- 
blacks of the school-house were known), as he marched 
round from bed to bed, collecting the dirty shoes and bools, 
and depositing clean ones in their places. 

There he lay, half doubtful as to where exactly in the 
universe he was, but conscious that he had made a step in 
life which he had been anxious to make. It was only just- 
light as he looked lazily out of the wide windows, and saw 
the tops of the great elms, and the rooks circling about, 
and cawing remonstrances to the lazy ones of their com- 
monwealth, before starting in a body for the neighboring 
plowed fields. The noise of the room-door closing behind 
Bogle, as he made his exit with the shoe-basket under his 
arm, roused Toip thoroughly, and he gat up ia bed and 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


105 


looked round Ibe room. What in the world could be the 
matter with his shoulders and loins? He felt as if he had 
been severely beaten all down his back, the natural result 
of his performance at his first match. He drew up his 
knees and rested his chin on them, and went over all the 
events of yesterday, rejoicing in his new life, what he hud 
seen of it, and all ihat was to come. 

Presently other boys roused themselves, and began to sit 
up and talk to one another in low tones. Then East, after 
a roll or two, came to an anchor also, and, nodding to Tom, 
began examining his ankle. 

“ What a pull," said he, “ that it's lie-in-bed, for I shall 
be as lame as a tree, I think." 

It was Sunday morning, and Saturday lectures had not 
yet been established; so that nothing but breakfast inter- 
vened between bed and eleven o'clock chapel — a gap by no 
means easy to fill up; in fact, though received with the 
correct amount of grumbling, the first lecture instituted 
by the doctor shortly afterward was a great boon to the 
school. It was lie-in-bed, and no one was in a hurry to 
get up, especially in rooms where the sixth-form boy was a 
good-tempered fellow, as was the case in Tom’s room, and 
allowed the small boys to talk and laugh, and do pretty 
much what they pleased, so long as they didn't disturb 
him. His bed was a bigger one than the rest, standing in 
the corner by the fire-place, with a washing-stand and large 
basin by the side, where he lay in state, with his white cur- 
tains tucked in so as to form a retiring-place; an awful 
subject of contemplation to Tom, who slept nearly oppo- 
site, and watched the great man rouse himself and take a 
book from under his pillow, and begin reading, leaning his 
head on his hand, and turning his back to the room. 
Soon, however, a noise of striving urchins arose, and mut- 
tered encouragements from the neighboring boys of — “ Go 
it, Tadpole!" “ Now, young Green!" “Haul away his 
blanket!" “ Slipper him on the hands!" Young Green 
and little Hall, commonly called Tadpole from his great 
black head and thin legs, slept side by side far away by the 
door, and were forever playing each other tricks, which 
usually ended, as on this morning, in open and violent col- 
lision; and now, unmindful of all order and authority, 
there they were, each hauling away at the other's bed- 
clothes with one hand, and with the ofher armed with a 


106 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


slipper, belaboring whatever portion of the body of his ad- 
versary came within reach. 

“Hold that noise up in the corner,” called out the 
praepostor, sitting up and looking round his curtains; and 
the Tadpole and young Green sunk down into their dis- 
ordered beds, and then, looking at his watch, added, “ Hal- 
loo, past eight! whose turn for hot water?” 

(Where the praepostor was particular in his ablutions, 
the fags in his room had to descend in turn to the kitchen, 
and beg or steal hot water for him; and often the custom 
extended further, and two boys went down every morning 
to get a supply for the whole room.) 

“ East’s and Tadpole’s,” answered the senior fag, who 
kept the rota. 

“ 1 can’t go,” said East; “ I’m dead lame.” 

“ Well, be quick, some of you, that’s all,” said the great 
man, as he turned out of bed, and putting on his slippers, 
weut out into the great passage which runs the whole 
length of the bedrooms, to get his Sunday habiliments out 
of his portmanteau. 

“ Let me go for you,” said Tom to East. “ 1 should 
like it.” 

“ Well, thank’ee, that’s a good fellow. Just pull on 
your trousers and take your jug and mine. Tadpole will 
show you the way.” 

And so Tom and the Tadpole, in night-shirts and 
trousers, started off down-stairs, and through “ Thos’s 
hole,” as the little buttery, where candles and beer, and 
bread and cheese were served out at night, was called; 
across the school-house court, down a long passage, and 
into the kitchen; where, after some parley with the stal- 
wart, handsome cook, who declared that she had filled a 
dozen jugs already, they got their hot water, and returned 
with all speed and great caution. As it was, they narrow- 
ly escaped capture by some privateers from the fifth-form 
rooms, who were on the lookout for the hot-water convoys, 
and pursued them up to the very door of their room, mak- 
ing them spill half their lead in the passage. 

“ Better than going down again, though,” Tadpole re- 
marked, “as we should have had to do if those beggars 
had caught us.” 

By the time that the calling-orer bell rang, Tom and his 
new comrades were all down, dressed in their best clothes; 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL- DAI'S. 10 *i 

and he had the satisfaction of answering “here" to his 
name for the first time, the praeposcor of the week having 
put it in at the bottom of his list. And then came break- 
fast, and a saunter about the close and town with East, 
whose lameness only became severe when any fagging had 
to be done. And so they whiled away the time until morn* 
ing chapel. 

It was a fine November morning, and the close soon be- 
came alive with boys of all ages, who sauntered about on 
the grass, or walked round the gravel-walk, in parties of 
two or three. East, still doing the cicerone, pointed out 
all the remarkable characters to Tom as they passed; Os- 
bert, who could throw a cricket-ball from the little side- 
ground over the rook-trees to the doctor’s wall; Gray, who 
had got the Ball iol scholarship, and, what East evidently 
thought of much more importance, a half holiday for the 
school by his success; Thorne, who had run ten miles in 
two minutes over the hour; Black, who had held his own 
against the cock of the town in the last row with the louts; 
and many more heroes, who then and there walked about 
and were worshiped, all trace of whom has long since van- 
ished from the scene of their fame; and the fourth-form 
boy who reads their names rudely cut out on the old hall- 
tables, or painted upon the big side cupboard (if hall-tables, 
and big side-cupboards still exist), wonders what manner 
of boys they were. It will be the same with you who won- 
der, my sons, whatever your prowess may be, in cricket, 
or scholarship, or football. Two or three years, more or 
less, and then the steadily advancing blessed wave will 
pass over your names as it has passed over ours. Never- 
theless, play your games and do your work manfully — see 
only that that be done, and let the remembrance of it take 
care of itself. 

The chapel-bell began to ring at a quarter to eleven, and 
Tom got iu early and took his place in the lowest row, and 
watched all the other boys come in and take their places, 
filling row after row; and tried to construe the Greek text 
which was inscribed over the door with the slightest possi- 
ble success, and wondered which of the masters, who walked 
down the chapel and took their seats in the exalted boxes 
at the end, would be his lord. And then came the closing 
of the doors, and the doctor in his robes, and the service, 
which, however, didn’t impress him much, for his feeling 


108 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


of wonder and cariosity was too strong. And the boy oto 
one side of him was scratching his name on the oak panel- 
ing in front, and he couldn’t help watching to see what 
the name was, and whether it was well scratched; and the 
boy on the other side went to sleep and kept falling against 
him; and on the whole, though many boys even in that 
part of the school were serious and attentive, the general 
atmosphere was by no means devotional; and when he got 
out into the close again, he didn’t feel at all comfortable, 
or as if he had been to church. 

But at afternoon chapel it was quite another thing. He 
had spent the time after dinuer in writing home to his 
mother, and so was in a better frame of mind; and his 
first curiosity was over, and he could attend more to the 
service. As the hymn after the prayers was being sung, 
and the chapel was getting a little dark, he was beginning 
to feel that he had been really worshiping. And then 
came that great event in his, as in every Rugby boy’s life 
of that day — the first sermon from the doctor. 

More worthy pens than mine have described thalrscene. 
The oak pulpit standing out by itself above the school 
seats. The tall gallant form, the kindling eye, the voice, 
now soft as the low notes of a flute, now clear and stirring 
as the call of the light infantry bugle, of him who stood 
there Sunday after Sunday, witnessing and pleading for 
his Lord, the King of righteousness and love and glory, 
with whose spirit he was filled, and in whose power he 
spoke. The long lines of young faces, rising tier above 
tier down the whole length of the chapel, from the little 
boy’s who had just left his mother to the young man’s 
who was going out next week into the great world rejoicing 
iii his strength. It was a great and solemn sight, and 
never more so than at this time of year, when the only 
lights in the chapel were in the pulpit and at the seats of 
the praepostors of the week, and the soft twilight stole over 
the rest of the chapel, deepening into darkness in the high 
gallery behind the organ. 

But what was it after all which seized and held these 
three hundred boys, dragging them out of themselves, 
willing or unwilling, for twenty minutes, on Sunday after- 
noon? True, there always were boys scattered up and 
down the school, who in heart and head were worthy to 
hear and able to carry away the deepest and wisest worda 


TOM brown's SCHOOL-DAYS. 109 

there spoken. But these were a minority always, gener- 
ally a very small one, often so small a one as to be counta- 
ble on the fingers of your hand. What was it that moved 
and held us, the rest of the three hundred reckless, child- 
ish boys, who feared the doctor with all our hearts, and 
very little besides in heaven or earth; who thought more 
of our sets in the school than of the Church of Christ, and 
put the traditions of Rugby and the public opinion of boys 
in our daily life above the laws of God? We couldn't en- 
ter into’ half that we heard; we hadn't the knowledge of 
our own hearts or the knowledge of one another; and little 
enough of the faith, hope, and love needed to that end. 
But we listened, as all boys in their better moods will listen 
(ay, and men too, for the matter of that), to a man who 
we felt to be, with all his heart and soul and strength, 
striving against whatever was mean and unmanly and un- 
righteous in our little world. It was not the cold, clear 
voice of one giving advice and warning from serene heights 
to those who were struggling and sinning below, but the 
warm living voice of one who was fighting for us and by 
our sides, and calling on us to help him and ourselves and 
one another. And so, wearily and little by little, but sure- 
ly and steadily on the whole, was brought home to the 
young boy, for the first time, the meaning of his life; that 
it was no fool's or sluggard’s paradise into which he had 
wandered by chance, but a battle-field ordained from of 
old, where there are no spectators, but the youngest must 
take his side, and the stakes are life and death. And he 
who roused his consciousness in them showed them at the 
same time, by every word he spoke 5n the pulpit, and by 
his whole daily life, how that battle was to be fought; and 
stood there before them their fellow-soldier and the captain 
of the band. The true sort of captain, too, for a boy's 
army, one who had no misgivings and gave no uncertain 
word of command, and, let who would yield or make a 
truce, would fight the fight out (so every boy felt) to the 
last gasp and the last drop of blood. Other sides of his 
character might take hold of and influence boys here and 
there, but it was this thoroughness and undaunted courage 
which more than anything else won his way to the hearts 
of the great mass of those on whom he left his mark and 
made them believe first in him, and then in his Master. 

It was this quality above all others which moved such 


TO^r ^ROWN*S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


\to 

boys as our hero, who had nothing whatever remarkable 
about hira rzcept excess of boyishness; by which I mean 
animal lire in its fullest measure, good nature, and honest 
impulses, hatred of injustice and meanness, and thought- 
lessness enough to sink a three-decker. And so, during 
the next two years, in which it was more than doubtful 
whether he would get good or evil from the school, and 
before any steady purpose or principle grew up in him, 
whatever his week’s sins and shortcomings might have 
been, he hardly ever left the chapel on Sunday evenings 
without a serious resolve to stand by and follow the doctor, 
and a feeling that it was only cowardice (the incarnation 
of all other sins in such a boy’s mind) which hindered him 
from doing so with all his heart. 

The next day Tom was duly placed in the third form, 
and began his lessons in a corner of the big school. He 
found the work very easy, as he had been well grounded, 
and knew his grammar by heart; and, as he had no inti- 
mate companion to make him idle (East and his other 
school-house friends being in the lower-fourth, the form 
above him), soon gained golden opinions from his master, 
who said he was placed too low, and should be put out at 
the end of the half year. So all went well with him in 
school, and he wrote the most flourishing letters home to 
his mother, full of his success and the unspeakable delights 
of a public school. 

In the house, too, all went well. The end of the half 
year was drawing near, which kept everybody in a good 
humor, and the house was ruled well and strongly by War- 
ner and Brooke. True, the general system was rough and 
hard, and there was bullying in nooks and corners, bad 
signs for the future; but it never got further, or dared 
show itself openly, stalking about the passages and halls 
and bedrooms, and making the life of the small boys a 
continual fear. 

Tom, as a new boy, was of right excused fagging for the 
first month, but in his enthusiasm for his new life this 
privilege hardly pleased him; and East and others of his 
young friends, discovering this, kindly allowed him to in- 
dulge his fancy, and take their turns at night fagging and 
cleaning studies. These were the principal duties of the 
fags in the house. From supper until nine o’clock, three 
fags taken in order stood in the passages, and answered 


Tom brown’s school-days. 


11 


any praepostor who called Fag, racing to the door, the last 
comer having to do the work. This consisted generally of 
going to the buttery for beer and bread and cheese (for the 
great men did not sup with the rest, but had each his own 
allowance in his study or the fifth-form room), cleaning 
candlesticks and putting in new candles, toasting cheese, 
bottling beer, and carrying messages about the house; and 
Tom, in the first blush of his hero-worship, felt it a high 
privilege to receive orders from, and be the bearer of the 
supper of, old Brooke. And besides this night-work, each 
praepostor had three or four fags specially allotted to him, 
of whom he was supposed to be the guide, philosopher, and 
friend, and who in return for these good offices had to 
clean out his study every morning by turns, directly after 
first lesson and before he returned from breakfast. And 
the pleasure of seeing the great men’s studies, and looking 
at their pictures, and peeping into their books, made Tom 
a ready substitute for any boy who was too lazy to do his 
own work. And so he soon gained the character of a good- 
natured, willing fellow, who was ready to do a turn for any 
one. 

In all the games too he joined with all his heart and 
soon became well versed in ail the mysteries of football, by 
continued practice at the school-house little-side which 
played daily. The only incident worth recording here, 
however, was his first run at hare-and-hounds. On the 
last Tuesday but one of the half year he was passing 
through the hall after dinner, when he was hailed with 
shouts from Tadpole and several other fags seated atone 
of the long tables, the chorus of which was, “ Come and 
help us tear up scent.” 

Tom approached the table in obedience to the mysterious 
summons, always ready to help, and found the party en- 
gaged in tearing up old newspapers, copy-books, and maga- 
zines into small pieces, with which they were filling four 
large canvas bags. 

“ It’s the turn of our house to find scent for big-side 
hare-and-hounds,” exclaimed Tadpole; 44 tearaway, there’s 
no time to lose before calling-over.” 

44 I think it’s a great shame,” said another small boy 
i6 to have such a. hard run for the last day.” 

“ Which run is it?” said Tadpole. 

64 Oh, the Barby run, I hear,” answered the other; 


112 


TOM brown’s school-days. 


“ nine miles at least, and hard ground; no chance of get* 
ting in at the finish, unless you’re a first-rate scud.” 

“ Well, I’m going to have a try,” said Tadpole; “ it’s 
the last run of the half, and if a fellow gets in at the end, 
big-side stands ale and bread and cheese, and a bowl of 
punch; and the Cook’s such a famous place for ale,” 

“ I should like to try too,” said Tom. 

“ Well, then, leave your waistcoat behind, and listen at 
the door, after calling-over, and you’ll hear where the 
meet is. ” 

After calling-over, sure enough, there were two boys at 
the door, calling out, “Big-side hare-and-hounds meet at 
White Hall;” and Tom, having girded himself with a leather 
strap, and left all superfluous clothing behind, set off for 
White Hall, an old gable-ended house some quarter of a 
mile from town, with East, whom he had persuaded to 
join, notwithstanding his prophecy that they could never 
get in, as it was the hardest run of the year. 

At the meet they found some forty or fifty boys, and 
Tom felt sure, from having seen many of them run at foot- 
ball, that he and East were more likely to get in than 
they. 

After a few minutes’ waiting, two well-known runners, 
chosen for tho hares, buckled on the four bags filled with 
scent, compared their watches with those of young Brooke 
and Thorne, and started off at a long slinging trot across 
the fields in the direction of Barby. 

Then the hounds clustered around Thorne, who explained 
shortly: 

“ They’re to have six minutes’ law. We run into the 
Cock, and every one who comes in within ? quarter of an 
hour of the hares’ll be counted, if he has been round Barby 
church.” 

Then came a minute’s pause or sc, and then the watches 
are pocketed, and the pack is led through the gate-way 
into the field which the hares hfld first crossed. Here they 
break into a trot, scattering over the field to find the first 
traces of the scent which the hares throw out as they go 
along. The old hounds made straight for the likely points, 
and in a minute a cry of “ forward ” comes from one of 
them, and the whole pack quickening their pace make for 
the spot, while the boy who hit the scent first and the two 
or three nearest to him are over the first fence, and mak 


113 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 

Rig play along the hedge-row in the long grass-field be- 
yond. The rest of the pack rush at the gap already made, 
and scramble through, jostling one another. “ Forward ” 
again, before they are half through; the pace quickens into 
a sharp run, the tail hounds all straining to get up with 
the lucky leaders. They are gallant hares, and the scent 
lies thick right across another meadow and into a plowed 
field, where the pace begins to tell; and then over a good 
wattle- with a ditch on the other side, and down a large 
pasture studded with old thorns, which slopes down to the 
first brook; the great Leicestershire sheep charge away 
across the field as the pack comes racing down the slope. 
The brook is a small one, and the scent lies right ahead up 
the opposite slope, and as thick as ever; not a turn or a 
check to favor the tail hounds who strain on, now trailing 
in a long line, many a youngster beginning to drag his 
legs heavily, and feel his heart beat like a hammer, and the 
bad plucked ones thinking that after all it isn’t worth 
while to keep it up. 

Tom, East, and the Tadpole had a good start, and are 
well up for such young hands, and after rising the slope 
and crossing the next field, find themselves up with the 
leading hounds, who have overrun the scent and are trying 
back; they have come a mile and a half in about eleven 
minutes, a pace which shows thatitisthe“ last day.” About 
twenty-five of the original starters only slow here, the rest 
having already given in, the leaders are busy making casts 
into the fields on the left and right, and the others get 
their second wind. 

Then comes the cry of “ forward 99 again, from young 
Brooke, from the extreme left, and the pack settles down 
to work again steadily and doggedly, the whole keeping 
pretty well together. "The scent, though still good, is not 
so thick; there is no need of that, for in this part of the 
run every one knows the line which must be taken, and so 
there are no casts to be made, but good downright run- 
ning and fencing to be done. All who are now up mean 
coming in, and they come to the foot of Barby Hill with- 
out losing more than two or throe more of the pack. This 
last straight two miles and a half is always a vantage- 
ground for the hounds, and the hares know it well; they 
are generally viewed on the side of Barby Hill, and all eyes 
are on the lookout for them to-day. But not a sign of 


114 


TOM bhown’s school-days. 


them appears, so now will be the hard work for the hound*, 
and there is nothing for it but to cast about for the scent, 
for it is now the hares 7 turn, and they may baffle the pack 
dreadfully in the next two miles. 

Ill fares it now with our youngsters that they are school- 
house boys, and so follow young Brooke, for he takes 
wide casts round to the left, conscious of his own powers, 
and loving the hard work. For if you would consider for 
a moment, you small boys, you would remember that the 
Cock, where the run ends, and the good ale will be going, 
lies far out to the right on the Dunchurch Road, so that 
every cast you take to the left is so much extra work. 
And at this stage of the run, when the evening is closing 
in already, no one remarks whether you run a little cun- 
ning or not, so you should stick to those crafty hounds 
who keep edging away to the right, and not follow a prodi- 
gal like young Brooke, whose legs are twice as long as yours 
and of cast-iron, wholly indifferent to two or three miles 
more or less. However, they struggle after him, sobbing 
and plunging along. Tom and East pretty close, and Tad- 
pole, whose big head begins to pull him down, some thirty 
yards behind. 

Now comes a brook, with stiff clay banks, from which 
they can hardly drag their legs, and they hear faint cries 
for help from the wretched Tadpole, who has fairly stuck 
fast. But they have too little run left in themselves to 
pull up for their own brothers. Three fields more, and 
another check, and then “ forward ” called away to the 
extreme right. 

The two boys’ souls die within them; they can never do 
it. Young Brooke thinks so too, and says, kindly, 
“You’ll cross a lane after next field, keep down it, and 
you’ll hit the Dunchurch Road below the Cock,” and then 
steams away for the run in, in which he’s sure to be first, 
as if he were just starting. They struggle on across the 
next field, the “ forwards ” getting fainter and fainter and 
then ceasing. The whole hunt is out of ear-shot, and all 
hope of coming in is over. 

“ Hang it all!” broke out East, as soon as he had got 
wind enough, pulling off his hat and mopping at his face, 
all spattered with dirt and lined with sweat, from which 
went up a thick steam into the still cold air. “ I told jmu 
how it would be. What a thick I was to come! Here we 


Tom brown’s school-bays. 115 

are dead beat, and yet 1 know we’re close to the run in, il 
we knew the country.” 

“ Well,” said Tom, mopping away, and gulping down 
his disappointment, “ it can’t be helped. We did our best 
anyhow. Hadn’t we better find this lane, and go down 
it, as young Brooke told us?” 

** I suppose so — nothing else for it,” grunted East. “ If 
ever 1 go out last day again,” growl — growl — growl. 

So they tried back slowly and sorrowfully, and found 
the lane, and went limping down it, plashing in the cold 
puddly ruts, and beginning to feel how the run had taken 
it out of them. The evening closed in fast, and clouded 
over dark cold, and dreary. 

“ I say, it must be locking-up, I should think,” remarked 
East, breaking the silence; “ it’s so dark.” 

“ What if we’re late?” said Tom. 

“ No tea, and sent up to the doctor,” answered East. 

The thought didn’t add to their cheerfulness. Presently 
a faint halloo was heard from an adjoining field. They 
answered it and stopped, hoping for some competent rustic 
to guide them, when over a gate some twenty yards ahead 
crawled the wretched Tadpole, in a state of collapse; he 
had lost a shoe in the brook, and been groping after it; up 
to his elbows in the stiff wet clay, and a more miserable 
creature in the shape of a boy seldom has been seen. 

The sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered than, for 
he was some degrees more wretched than they. They also 
cheered him, as he was no longer under the dread of pass- 
ing his night alone in the fields. And so in better heart, 
the three plashed painfully down the never-ending lane. 
At last it widened, just as utter darkness set in, and they 
came out on to a turnpike-road, and there paused, bewil- 
dered, for they had lost all bearings, and knew not whether 
to turn to the right or left. 

Luckily for them they had not to decide, fer lumbering 
along the road, with one lamp lighted, and two spavined 
horses in the shafts, came a heavy coach, whkh after a 
moment’s suspense they recognized as the Oxford coach, 
the redoubtable Pig and Whistle. 

It lumbered slowly up, and the boys, mustering their 
last run, caught it as it passed, and began scrambling up 
behind, in which exploit East missed his footing and fell 
fiat on his nose along the Hoad. Then the others hailed 


116 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


scare-crow of a coachman, who pulled up and agreed to take 
them in for a shilling; so there they sat on the back seat, 
drubbing with their heels, and their teeth chattering with 
cold, and jogged into Kugby some forty minutes after lock- 
ing-up. 

Five minutes afterward, three small limping shivering 
figures steal along through the doctor's garden, and into 
the house by the servants' entrance- (all the other gates had 
been closed long since), where the first thing they lighted 
upon in the passage is old Thomas, ambling along, candle 
in one hand, and keys in the other. 

He stops and examines their condition with a grim smile. 
“ Ah! East, Hall, and Brown, late for locking up. Must 
go to the doctor's study at once." 

“ Well, but, Thomas, mayn't we go and wash first? 
You can put down the time, you know." 

“ Doctor's study d'rectly you come in — that’s the or- 
ders," replied old Thomas, motioning toward the stairs at 
the end of the passage which led into the doctor's house; 
and the boys turned ruefully down it, not cheered by the 
old verger's muttered remark, “ What a pickle they boys 
be in!" Thomas referred to their faces and habiliments, 
but they construed it as indicating the doctor’s state of 
mind. Upon the short flight of stairs they paused to hold 
counsel. 

44 Who'll go in first?" inquires Tadpole. 

“ You — you're the senior," answered East, 

“ Catch me — look at the state I'm in," rejoined Hall, 
showing the arms of his jacket. 44 I must get behind you 
two." 

44 Well, but look at me," said East, indicating the mass 
of clay behind which he was stauding; “ I'm worse than 
you, two to one; you might grow cabbages on my trousers." 

That's all down below, and you can keep your legs be- 
hind the sofa," said Hall. 

“ Here, Brown, you’re the show-figure — you must lead." 

44 But my face is all muddy," argued Tom. 

“ Oh, we're all in one boat for that matter; but come 
on, we're only making it worse, dawdling here." 

4 4 Well, just give us a brush then," said Tom; and they 
began trying to rub off the superfluous dirt from eacli 
other's jackets, but it was not dry enough, and the rub- 
oing made it worse; so in despair they pushed through the 


TOM brown’s school-days. 117 

swing door at the head of the stall’s, and found themselves 
in the doctor’s hall. 

“ That’s the library door,” said East in a whisper, push- 
ing Tom forward. The sound of merry voices and laugh- 
ing came from within, and his first hesitating knock was 
unanswered. But at the second, the doctor’s voice said, 
“ Come in,” and Tom turned the handle, and he, with 
the others behind him, sidled into the room. 

The doctor looked up from his task; he was working 
away with a great chisel at the bottom of a boy’s sailing 
boat, the lines of which he was no doubt fashioning on the 
model of one of Nicias’s galleys. Bound him stood three 
or four children; the candles burned brightly on a large 
table, at the further end covered with books and papers, 
and a great fire threw a ruddy glow over the rest of the 
room. All looked so kindly, and homely, and comfortable 
that the boys took heart in a moment, and Tom advanced 
from behind the shelter of the great sofa. The doctor 
nodded to the children, who went out casting curious 
glances at the three young scare-crows. 

“ Well, my little fellows,” began the doctor, drawing 
himself up with his back to the fire, the chisel in one hand 
and his coat-tails in the other, and his eyes twinkling as 
he looked them over; “ what makes you so late?” 

“ Please, sir, we’ve been out big-side hare-and-hounds, 
and lost our way.” 

“ Hah! you couldn’t keep up, 1 suppose?” 

“ Well, sir,” said East, stepping out, and not liking 
that the doctor should think lightly of his running powers, 
“ we got round Barby all right, but then — ” 

“ Wh} r , what a state you’re in, my boy!” interrupted 
the doctor, as the pitiful condition of East’s garments was 
fully revealed to him. 

“ That’s the fall 1 got, sir, in the road,” said East, 
looking down at himself. “ The old Pig came by—” 

“ The what?” said the doctor. 

“ The Oxford coach, sir,” explained Hall. 

“ Hah! yes, the Regulator,” said the doctor. 

“ And 1 tumbled on my face trying to get up behind,” 
went on East. 

“ You’re not hurt, 1 hope?” said the doctor. 

“ Oh, no, sir.” 


118 


TOM BEOWH’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


things on, and then tell the housekeeper to give you some 
tea. You’re too young to try such long runs. Let Warner 
know I’ve seen you. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night, sir.” And away scuttled the three boys 
in high glee. 

“ What a brick not to give us even twenty lines to 
learn!” said the Tadpole, as they reached their bedroom; 
and in half an hour afterward they were sitting by the fire 
in the housekeeper’s room at a sumptuous tea, with cfffu 
meat, “ twice as good grub as we should have got in the 
hall,” as the Tadpole remarked with a grin, his mouth 
full of buttered toast. All their grievances were forgotten, 
and they were resolving to go out the first big-side next half, 
and thinking hare-and-hounds the most delightful of games. 

A day or two afterward t! * great passage outside the 
bedrooms was cleared of the boxes aud portmanteaus, which 
went down to be packed by the matron, aud great games 
of chariot-racing, and cock-fighting, and bolstering, went 
on in the vacant space, the sure sign of a closing half year. 

Then came the making-up of parties for the journey 
home, and Tom joined a party who were to hire a coach, 
and post with four horses to Oxford. 

Then the last Saturday, on which the doctor came round 
to each form to give out the prizes, and hear the masters’ 
last reports of how they and their charges had been con- 
ducting themselves; and Tom, to his huge delight, was 
praised, and got his remove into the lower-fourth, in which 
all his school-house friends were. 

On the next Tuesday morning, at four o’clock, hot coffee 
was going on in the housekeeper’s and matron’s rooms; 
boys wrapped in great coats and mufflers were swallowing 
hasty mouthfuls, rushing about, tumbling over luggage, 
and asking questions all at once of the matron; outside 
the school-gates were drawn up several chaises and the 
four-horse coach which Tom’s party had chartered, the 
post-boys in their best jackets and breeches, and a corno- 
pean player, hired for the occasion, blowing away “ A 
southerly wind and a cloudy sky,” waking all peaceful in- 
habitants half-way down the High Street. 

Every minute the bustle and hubbub increased, porters 
staggered about with boxes and bags, the cornopean 
played louder. Old Thomas sat in his den with a great 
yellow bag by his side, out of which he was paying journey 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


119 


money to each boy, comparing by the light o' a solitary dip 
the dirty crabbed little list in his own handwriting with 
the doctor’s list, and the amount of his cash; his head 
was on one side, his mouth screwed up, and his spectacles 
dim from early toil. He had prudently locked the door, 
and carried on his operations solely through the window, 
or he would have been driven wild, and lost all his money. 

“ Thomas, do be quick, we shall never catch the High- 
flyer at Dunchurch. ” 

“ That’s your money, all right, Green.” 

“Halloo, Thomas, the doctor said 1 was to have two- 
pound-ten; you’ve only given me two pound.” 1 fear 
that Master Green is not confining himself strictly to the 
truth. ■ Thomas turns his head more on one side than ever, 
and spells away at the dirty list. Green is forced away 
from the window. 

“ Here, Thomas, never mind him; mine’s thirty shil- 
lings.” “ And mine too,” “ And mine,” shouted others. 

One way or another, the party to which Tofu belonged 
all got packed and paid, and sallied out to the gates, the 
cornopean playing frantically “ Drops of Brandy,” in allu- 
sion, probably, to the slight potations in which the musi- 
cian and post-boys had been already indulging. All lug- 
gage was carefuliy stowed away inside the coach and in the 
front and hind boots, so that not a hat-box was visible out- 
side. Five or six small boys, with pea-shooters, and the 
cornopean player, got up behind; in front the big boys, 
mostly smoking, not for the pleasure, but because they 
are now gentlemen at large — and this is the most correct 
public method of notifying the fact. 

*• Robinson’s coach will be down the road in a minute, 
it has gone up to Bird’s to pick up— we’ll wait till they’re 
close, and make a race of it,” says the leader. “Now, 
boys, half a sovereign apiece if you beat ’em into Dun? 
church by one hundred yards.” 

“ All right, sir,” shouted the grinning post-boys. 

Down comes Robinson’s coach in a minute or two with a 
rival cornopean, and away go the two vehicles, horses 
galloping, boys cheering, horns playing loud. 

There is a special Providence over school-boys as well as 
sailors, or they must have upset twenty times in the first 
five miles; sometimes actually abreast of each other, and 
the boys on the roofs exchanging volleys of pease, now 


120 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL- PAYS. 


nearly running over a post-chaise which had started before 
them, now half-way up a batik, now with a wheel and 
a half over a yawning ditch; and all this on a dark morning, 
with nothing but their own lamps to guide them. How- 
ever, it's all over at last, and they have run over nothing 
but an old pig in Southarn Street; the last pease are distrib- 
uted in the corn market at Oxford, where they arrive be- 
tween eleven and twelve, and sit down to a sumptuous break- 
fast at the Angel, which they are made to pay for 
accordingly. Here the party breaks up, all going now 
different ways; and Tom orders out a chaise and pair as 
grand as a lord, though he has scarcely five shillings left in 
his pocket and more than twenty miles to get home. 

“ Where to, sir?” 

“ Red Lion, Farringdon,” says Tom, giving the hostler 
a shilling. 

“ All right, sir. Red Lion, Jem,” to the post-boy, and 
Tom rattles away toward home. At Farringdon, being 
known to the inn-keeper, he gets that worthy to pay for 
the Oxford horses, and forward him in another chaise at 
once; aud so the gorgeous young gentleman arrives at the 
paternal mansion, and Squire Brown looks rather blue at 
having to pay two pounds ten shillings for the posting ex- 
penses from Oxford. But the boy's intense joy at getting 
home, and the wonderful health he is in, and the good 
character he brings, and the brave stories he tells of Rug- 
by, its doings and delights, soon mollify the squire, and 
three happier people didn’t sit down to dinner that day in 
England (it is the boy’s first dinner at six o’clock at home, 
great promotion already), than the squire and his wife and 
Tom Brown at the end of his first half year at Rugby. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 

They are slaves who will not choose 
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, 

Rather than in silence shrink 
From the truth they needs must think: 

They are slaves who dare not be 
In the right with two or three. 

Lowell, Stanzas on Freedom. 

The lower-fourth form in which Tom found himself at 
£he beginning of the next half year was the largest form 


TOM BROWN'S ;SCHOOI.-DAYS. 121 

in the lower school, and numbered upward of forty boys. 
Young gentlemen of all ages from nine to fifteen were to 
be found there, who expended such part of their energies 
as was devoted to Latin and Greek upon a book of Livy, 
the “ Bucolics" of Virgil, and the “ Hecuba " of Euripides, 
which were ground out in small daily .portions. The driv- 
ing of the unlucky lower-fourth must have been grievous t 
work to the unfortunate master, for it was the most un- ' 
happily constituted of any in the school. Here stuck the 
great stupid boys, who for the life of them could never 
master the accidence; the objects alternately of mirth and 
terror to the youngsters, who were daily taking them up 
and laughing at them in lesson, and getting kicked by 
them for so doing in play-hours. There were no less than 
three unhappy fellows in tail coats, with incipient down on 
their chins, whom the doctor and the master of the form 
were always endeavoring to hoist into the upper school, but 
whose parsing and construing resisted the most well-meant 
shoves. Then came the mass of the form, boys of eleven 
and twelve, the most mischievous and reckless age of 
British youth, of whom East and Torn Brown were fair 
specimens. As full of tricks as monkeys, and of excuses 
as Irish women, making fun of their master, one another, 
and their lessons; Argus himself would have been puzzled 
to keep an eye on them; and as for making them steady or 
serious for half an hour together, it was simply hopeless. 
The remainder of the form consisted of young prodigies of 
nine and ten, who were going up the school at the rate of 
a form a half year, all boy’s hands and wits being against 
them in their progress. It w'ouid have been one man's 
work to see that the precious youngsters had fair play; and 
as the master had a good deal besides to do, they hadn’t, 
and were forever being shoved down three or four places, 
their verses stolen, their books inked, their jackets whitened, 
and their lives otherwise made a burden to them. 

The lower-fourth and all the forms below it were heard 
in the great school, and were not trusted to prepare their 
lessons before coming in, but were whipped into the school 
three quarters of an hour before the lesson began by their 
respective masters, and there scattered about on the 
benches, with dictionary and grammar, hammered out 
their twenty lines of Virgil and Euripides in the midst of 
babel. The masters of the lower school walked up and 


122 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


down the great school together daring this three quarters 
of an hour, or sat in their desks reading or looking over 
copies, and keeping such order as was possible. But the 
lower-fourth was just now an overgrown form, too large 
for any one man to attend to properly, and consequently 
the elysium or ideal. form of the young scapegraces who 
formed the staple of it. 

Tom, as has been said, bad come up from the third with 
a good character, but the temptations of the lower-fourth 
soon proved too strong for him, and he rapidly fell away, 
and became as unmanageable as the rest. For some weeks, 
indeed, he succeeded in maintaining the appearance of 
steadiness, and was looked upon favorably by his new mas- 
ter, whose eyes were first opened by the following little 
incident. 

Besides the desk which the master himself occupied, 
there was another large unoccupied desk in the corner of 
the great school, which was untenanted. To rush and 
seize upon the desk, which was ascended by three steps, 
and held four boys, was the great object of ambition of the 
lower-fourthers; and the contentions for the occupation of 
it bred such disorder, that at last the master forbade its 
use altogether. This of course was a challenge to the 
more adventurous spirits to occupy it, and as it was capa- 
cious enough for two boys to lie hid there completely, it 
was seldom that it remained empty, notwithstanding the 
veto. Small holes were cut in the front, through which 
the occupants watched the masters as they walked up and 
down, and as lesson time approached, one boy at a time 
stole out and down the steps, as the masters’ backs were 
turned, and mingled with the general crowd on the forms 
below. Tom and East had successfully occupied the desk 
some half dozen times, and were grown so reckless that 
they were in the habit of playing small games with fives’- 
balls inside when the masters were at the other end of the 
big school. One day, as ill-luck would have it, the game 
became more exciting than usual, and the ball slipped 
through East’s fingers, and rolled slowly down the steps, 
and out into the middle of the school, just as the masters 
turned in their walk and faced round upon the desk. The 
young delinquents watched their master through the look- 
out holes march slowly down the school straight upon their 
'etreat, while all the boys in the neighborhood of course 


TOM BROWNES SCHOQL-DAYS. * 123 

stopped their work to look on; and no 1; only were they ig- 
noniiniously drawn out, and caned over the hand then and 
there, but their characters for steadiness were gone from 
that time. However, as they on ! y » ha red the fate of some 
three fourths of the rest of the form, this did not weigh 
heavily upon them. 

In fact, the only occasions on which they cared about the 
matter were the monthly examinations, when the doctor 
came round to examine their form, for one long awful 
hour, in the work which they had done in the preceding 
month. The second monthly examination came round 
soon after Tom’s fall, and it was with anything but lively 
anticipations that he and the other lower-fourth boys came 
into prayers on the morning of the examination day. 

Prayers and calling-over seemed twice as short as usual, 
and before they could get construes of a tithe of the hard 
passages marked in the margin of their books, t hey were all 
seated round, and the doctor was standing in the middle, 
talking in whispers to the master. Tom couldn’t hear a 
word which passed, and never lifted his eyes from his book; 
but he knew by a sort of magnetic instinct that the doctor’s 
under lip was coming out, and his eye beginning to burn, 
and his gown getting gathered up more and more tightly 
in his left hand. The suspense was agonizing, and Tnm 
knew that he was sure on such occasions to make an ex- 
ample of the school-house boys. “ If he would only begin,” 
thought Tom, “ I shouldn’t mind.” 

At last the whispering ceased, and the name which was 
called out was not Brown. He looked up for a moment, 
but the doctor’s face was too awful; Tom wouldn’t have 
met his eye for all he was worth, and buried himself in his 
hook again. 

The boy who was called up first was a clever, merry 
school-house boy, one of their set; he was some connection 
of the doctor’s and a great favorite, and ran in and out of 
the house as he liked, and so was selected for the first 
victim. 

“ Triste lupus, stabulis began the luckless youngster 
and stammered through some eight or ten lines. 

“ There, that will do,” said the doctor; “ now construe.” 

On common occasions, the boy could have construed the 
passage well enough probably, but now his head has gone, 

* f Triste lupus , the sorrowful wolf,” he began. 


124 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


A shudder ran through the whole form, and the doctor’s 
wrath fairly boiled over; he made three steps up to the 
construer, and gave him a good box on the ear. The 
blow was not a hard one, but the boy was so taken 
by surprise that he started back; the form caught 
the back of his knees, and over he went on to the floor be- 
hind. There was dead silence over the whole school; never 
before, and never again while Tom was at school, did the 
doctor strike a boy in lesson. The provocation must have 
been great. However, the victim had saved his form for 
that occasion, for the doctor turned to the top bench, and 
put on the be3t boys for the rest of the hour; and though, 
at the end of the lesson, he gave them all such a rating as 
they did not forget, this terrible field-day passed over with- 
out any severe visitations in the shape of punishments or 
floggings. Forty young scapegraces expressed their thanks 
to the “sorrowful wolf ” in their different ways before 
second lesson. 

But a character for steadiness once gone is not easily 
recovered, as Tom found, and for years afterward he went 
up to the school without it, and the masters’ hands were 
against him, and his against them. And he regarded 
tnem, as a matter of course, as his natural enemies. Mat- 
ters were not so comfortable either in the house as they had 
been, for old Brooke left at Christmas, and one or two 
others of the sixth-form boys at the following Easter. 
Their rule had been rough, but strong and just. in the main, 
and a higher standard was beginning to be set up; in fact, 
there had been a short foretaste of the good time which 
followed some years later. Just now, however, all threat- 
ened to return into darkness and chaos again. For the new 
praepostors were either small young boys, whose cleverness 
had carried them up to the top of the school, while in 
strength of body and character they were not yet fit for a 
share in the government; or else big fellows of the wrong 
sort, boys whose friendships and taste had a downward ten- 
dency, who had not caught the meaning of their position and 
work, and felt none of its responsibilities. So under this 
no-government the school-house began to see bad times. 
The big fifth-form boys, who were a sporting and drinking 
set, soon began to usurp power, aud to fag the little boys as 
if they were praepostors, and to bully and oppress any who 
ghovved signs of resistance. The bigger sort of sixth-form 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


125 


boys just described soon made common cause with the fifth, 
while the smaller sort, hampered by their colleagues’ deser- 
tion to the enemy, could not make head against them. So 
the fags were without their lawful masters and protectors, 
and ridden over rough-shod by a set of boys whom they 
were not bound to obey, aud whose only right over them 
stood in their bodily powers; and, as old Brooke had 
prophesied, the house by degrees broke up into small sets 
and parties, and lost the strong feeling of fellowship which 
he set so much store by, and with it much of the prowess 
in games and the lead in all school matters which he had 
done so much to keep up. 

In no place in the world has individual character more 
weight than at a public school. Remember this, 1 beseech 
you, all you boys who are getting into the upper forms. 
Now is the time in all your lives probably when you may 
have more wide influence for good or evil on the society 
you live in than you ever can have again. Quit yourselves 
like men, then; speak up, and strike out if necessary for 
whatsoever is true, and manly, and lovely, and of good re- 
port; never try to be popular, but only to do your duty and 
help others to do theirs, and you may leave the tone of feel- 
ing in the school higher than you found it, and so be doing 
good, which no living soul can measure, to generations of 
your countrymen yet unborn. For boys follow one another 
in herds like sheep, for good or evil; they hate thinking, 
and have rarely any settled principles. Every school, in- 
deed, has its own traditionary standard of right and wrong, 
which can not be transgressed with impunity, marking 
certain things as low and blackguard, and certain others 
as lawful and right. This standard is ever varying, 
though it changes only slowly, and little by little; and, 
subject only to such standard, it is the leading boys for 
the time being who give the tone to all the rest, and make 
the school either a noble institution for the training of 
Christian Englishmen, or a place where a young boy will 
get more evil than he would if he were turned out to make 
his way in London streets, or anything between these two 
extremes. 

The change for the worse in the school-house, however, 
didn’t press very heavily on our youngsters for some time; 
they were in a good bedroom, where slept the only prae- 
postor left who was able to keep thorough order, and their 


126 


tOM BTtOWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS, 


study was in his passage; so, though they were fagged more 
or less, and occasionally kicked or cuffed by the bullies, 
they were on the whoie well off; and i he fresh, brave 
school-life, so full of games, ad vent ures and good fellowship, 
so ready at. forgetting, so capacious at enjoying, so bright 
at forecasting, out weighed a thousand-fold their troubles 
with the master of their form, and the occasional ill-usage 
of the big boys in the house. It wasn’t till some year or 
so after the events recorded above, that the praepostor of 
their room and passage left. None of the other sixth-form 
boys would move into their passage, and, to the disgust and 
indignation of Tom and East, one morning after breakfast 
they were seized upon by Flashman, and made to carry 
down his books and furniture into the unoccupied study 
which he had taken. From this time they began to feel 
the weight of the tyranny of Flashman and his friends, and 
now that trouble had come home to their own doors, began 
to look out for sympathisers and partners among the rest 
of the fags; and meeting 5 of the oppressed began to he 
held, and murmurs to arise, and plots to be laid as to how 
they should free themselves and be avenged on their ene- 
m ies. 

While matters were in this state. East and Tom were 
one evening sitting in their study. They had done their 
work for first lesson, and Tom was in a brown study, brood- 
ing, like a young William Tell, upon the wrongs of fags in 
general, and his own in particular. 

“ I say, Scud,” said he at last, rousing himself to snuff 
the candle, “ what right have the fifth-form boys to fag 
us as they do?” 

“No more right than you have to fag them,” answered 
East, without looking up from an early number of “ Pic- 
wick,” which was just coming out, and which he was luxuri- 
ously devouring, stretched on his back on the sofa. 

Tom relapsed into his brown study, and East went on 
reading and chuckling. The contrast of the boys’ faces 
would have given infinite amusement to a looker-on, the 
one so solemn and big with mighty purpose, the other ra- 
diant and bubbling over with fun. 

“ Do you know, old fellow, I’ve been thinking it over a 
good deal,” began Tom, again. 

“ Oh, yes, 1 know, fagging you are thinking of. Hang 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 127 

it all— but listen here. Torn — here’s fun. Mr. Winkle’s 
horse — ” 

“ And I’ve made up my mind,” broke in Tom, “ that I 
won’t fag except for the sixth.” 

'■* Quite right too, my boy,” cried East, putting his fin- 
ger on the place and looking up; “but a pretty peck of 
troubles you’ll get into, if you’re going to play that game. 
However, I’m all for a strike myself, if we can get others 
to join — it’s getting too bad.” 

“ Can’t we get some sixth-form fellow to take it up?” 
asked Tom. 

“ Well, perhaps we might; Morgan would interfere, 1 
think. Only,” added East, after a moment’s pause, “ you 
see we should have to tell him about it, and that’s 
against school principles. Don’t you remember what old 
Brooke said about learning to take our own parts?” 

“ Ah, I wish old Brooke was back again — it was all right 
in his time.” 

“ Why, yes, you see then the strongest and best fellows 
were in the sixth, and the fifth-form fellows were afraid 
of them, and they kept good order; but now our sixth- 
form fellows are too small, and the fifth don’t care for 
them, and do what they like in the house.” 

“ And so we get a double set of masters,” cried Tom, 
indignantly; “ the lawful ones, who are responsible to the 
doctor, at any rate, and the unlawful — the tyrants, who 
are responsible to nobody. ” 

“ Down with the tyrants!” cried East. “ I’m all for law 
and order, and hurrah for a revolution.” 

“ I shouldn’t mind if it were only for young Brooke now,” 
said Tom, “ he’s such a good-hearted, gentlemanly fellow, 
and ought to be in the sixth — I’d do anything for him. 
But that blackguard Flashman, who never speaks to one 
without a kick or an oath—” 

“ The cowardly brute,” broke in East, “ how I hate 
him! And he knows it too; he knows that you and I think 
him a coward. What a bore that he’s got a study in this 
passage! don’t you hear them now at supper in his den? 
Brandy punch going, I’ll bet. I wish the doctor would 
come out and catch him. We must change our study as 
soon as we can.” 

“ Change or no change. I’ll never fag for him again,” 
said Tom, thumping the table. 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


128 


“ Fa-a-a-ag!” sounded along the passage from Flash- 
man’s study. The two boys looked at each other in 
silence. It had struck nine, so the regular night-fags had 
left duty, and they were the nearest to the supper-party. 
East sat up and began to look comical, as he always did 
under difficulties. 

“ Fa-a-a-ag!” again. No answer. 

“ Here, Brown! East! you cursed young skulks,” roared 
out Flashman, coming to his open door, “ 1 know youTe 
in — no shirking.” 

Tom stole to their door and drew the bolts as noiselessly 
as he could; East blew out the candle. “Barricade the 
first,” whispered he. “ Now, Tom, mind, no surrender.” 

“ Trust me for that,” said Tom between his teeth. 

In another minute they heard the supper-party turn out 
and come down the passage to their door. They held their 
breaths, and heard whispering, of which they only made 
out Flashman’s words, “ I know the young brutes are in.” 

Then came summonses to open, which, being unanswered, 
the assault commenced. Luckily the door was a good strong 
oak one, and resisted the united weight of Flashman’s 
party. A pause followed, and they heard a besieger remark, 
“ They’re in, safe enough — don’t you see how the door 
holds at top and bottom? so the bolts must be drawn. We 
should have forced the lock long ago.” East gave Tom a 
nudge, to call attention to this scientific remark. 

Then came attacks on particular panels, one of which at 
last gave way to the repeated kicks; but it broke inward, 
and the broken piece got jammed across, the door being 
lined with green baize, and couldn’t easily be removed from 
the outside; and the besieged, scorning further conceal- 
ment, strengthened their defenses by pressing the end of 
their sofa against the door. So after one or two more in- 
effectual efforts Flashman & Co. retired, vowing vengeance 
in no mild terms. 

The first danger over, it only remained for the besieged 
to effect a safe retreat, as it was now near bed-time. They 
listened intently, and heard the supper-party resettle them- 
selves, and then gently drew back first one bolt and then 
the other. Presently the convivial noises began again 
steadily. “Now then, stand by for a run,” said East, 
throwing the door wide open and rushing into the passage, 
closely followed by Tom. They were too auick to be 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


129 


caught; but Flashman was on the lookout, and sent an 
empty pickle-jar whizzing after them, which narrowly 
missed Tom’s head, and broke into twenty pieces at the 
end of the passage. “ He wouldn’t mind killing one if he 
wasn’t caught,” said East as they turned the corner. 

There was no pursuit, so the two turned into the hall, 
where they found a knot of small boys round the fire. 
Their story was told — the war of independence. had broken 
out — who would join the revolutionary forces? Several 
others present bound themselves not to fag for the fifth- 
form at once. One or two only edged off, and left the 
rebels. What else could they do? “ I’ve a good mind to 
go to the doctor straight,” said Tom. 

“ That’ll never do — don’t you remember the levy of the 
school last half?” put in another. 

In fact, that soleinn assembly, a levy of the school, 
had been held, at which the captain of the school had got 
up, and, after premising that several instances had occurred 
of matters having been reported to the masters, that this 
was against public morality and school tradition; that a 
levy of the sixth had been held on the subject, and they 
had resolved that the practice must be stopped at once; 
had given out that any boy, in whatever form, who should 
thenceforth appeal to the master without having first gone 
to some praepostor and laid the case before him, should be 
thrashed publicly and sent to Coventry. 

“ Well, then, let’s try the sixth. Try Morgan,” sug- 
gested another. “ No use ” — “ Blabbing won’t do,” was 
the general feeling. 

“ I’ll give you fellows a piece of advice,” said a voice 
from the end of the hall. They all turned round with a 
start, and the speaker got up from a bench on which he 
had been lying unobserved, and gave himself a shake; he wa3 
a big, loose-made fellow with huge limbs which had grown 
too far through his jacket and trousers. “ Don’t you go to 
anybody at all — you just stand out; say you won’t fag — 
they’ll soon get tired of licking you. I’ve tried it on 
years ago with their forerunners.” 

“ No! did you? tell us how it was,” cried a chorus of 
voices, as they clustered round him. 

“ Well, just as it is with you. The fifth-form would fag 
us, and 1 and some more struck, and we beat ’em. The 
& 


130 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


good fellows left oil directly, and the bullies who kept ok 
soon got afraid. 

“ Was Flashnian here then?” 

“ Yes! and a dirty, little sniveling, sneaking fellow he 
was too. He never dared join us, and used to toady the 
bullies by offering to fag for them and preaching against 
the rest of us.” 

“ Why wasn’t he cut, then?” said East. 

“ Oh, toadies never get cut, they’re too useful. Besides, 
he has no end of great hampers from home, with wine and 
game in them; so he toadied and fed himself into favor.” 

The quarter to ten bell now rang, and l be small boys 
went off upstairs still consulting together, and praising their 
new counselor, who stretched himself out on the bench 
before tiie hall fire again. There he lay, a very queer 
specimen of boyhood, by name Higgs, and familiarly called 
“ the mucker.” He was young for his size, and a very 
clever fellow, nearly at (lie top of the fifth. His friends 
at home, having regard, I suppose, to his age, and not to 
his size and place in the school, hadn’t put him into f ai is; 
and even his jackets were always too small; and he had a 
talent for destroying clothes, and making himself look 
shabby, lie wasn’t on terms with Fiashman’s set, who 
sneered, at his dress and ways behind his back, which he 
knew, and revenged himself by asking Flash man the most 
disagreeable questions, and treating him familiarly whenever 
a crowd of boys were round them. Neither was he inti- 
mate with any of the other bigger boys, who were warned 
off by his oddnesses, for he was a very queer fellow; be- 
sides, among other failings, he had that of impecuidosity in 
a remarkable degree, lie brought as much money as other 
boys to school, but got rid of it in no time* no one knew 
how. And then, being also reckless, borrowed from any 
one, and when his debts accumulated and creditors pressed, 
would have an auction in the hall of everything he pos- 
sessed in the world, selling even his school-books^ candle- 
sticks, and study table. For weeks after one of these auc- 
tions, having rendered his study uninhabitable, he would 
live about the fifth-form room and hall, doing his verses 
on old letter-backs and odd scraps of paper, and learning 
his lessons no one knew how. He never meddled with any 
little boy, and was popular with them, though they all 
looked on him with a sort of compassion and called him 


tOM BROWNES SCHOOL-1) AYS. 


131 


“ poor Diggs,” not being able to resist appearances, or to 
disregard wholly even the sneers of their enemy Flashman. 
However, he seemed equally indifferent to the sneers of big 
boys and the pity of small ones, and lived his own queer 
life with much apparent enjoyment to himself. It is nec- 
essary to induce Diggs thus particularly, as he not only did 
Tom and East good service in their present warfare, as is 
about to be told, but soon afterward, when he got into the 
sixth, chose them for his fags and excused them from 
study-fagging, thereby earning unto himself eternal grati- 
tude from them, and all who are interested in their history. 

And seldom had small boys more need of a friend, for 
the morning after the siege the storm burst upon the rebels 
in all its violence. Flashman laid wait, and caught Tom 
before second lesson, and receiving a point-blank “ No,” 
when told to fetch his hat, seized him and twisted his arm, 
and went through the other methods of torture in use: 

“ He couldn’t make me cry, though,” as Tom said, tri- 
umphantly, to the rest of the rebels, “ and 1 kicked his 
shins well, I know.” 

And soon it crept out that a lot of the fags were in 
league, and Flashman excited his associates to join him in 
bringing the young vagabonds to their senses; and the 
house was filled with constant chasings, and sieges, and 
lickings of all sorts; and in return the bullies’ beds were 
pulled to pieces, and drenched with water, and their names 
written up on the walls with every insulting epithet which 
the fag invention could furnish. The war, in short, raged 
fiercely; but soon, as Diggs had told them, all the better 
fellows in the fifth gave up trying to fag them, and public 
feeling began to set against Flashman and his two or three 
intimates, and they were obliged to keep their doings more 
secret, but being thorough bad fellows, missed no oppor- 
tunity of torturing in private. Flashman was an adept in 
all ways, but above all- in the power of saying cutting and 
cruel things, and could often bring tears to the eyes of 
boys in this way, which all the thrashings in the world 
wouldn’t have wrung from them. 

And as his operations were being cut short in other direc- 
tions, he now devoted himself chiefly to Tom and East, 
who lived at his own door, and would force himself into 
their study whenever he found a chance, and sit there, 
sometimes alone, and sometimes with a companion, inter- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


V62 


rupting all their work, and exulting in the evident pair 
which every now and then he could see he was inflicting on 
one or the other. 

The storm had cleared the air for the rest of the house, 
and a better state of things now began than there had been 
since Old Brooke had left; but an angry dark spot of thun- 
der-cloud still hung over the end of the passage, where 
Flashman’s study and that of East and Tom lay. 

He felt that they had been the first rebels, and that the 
rebellion had been to a great extent successful; but what 
above all stirred the hatred and bitterness of his heart 
against them, was that in the frequent collisions which 
there had been of late, they had openly called him coward 
and sneak — the taunts were too true to be forgiven. While 
he was in the act of thrashing them, they would roar out 
instances of his funking football, or shirking some encoun- 
ter with a lout of half his own size. These things were all 
well enough known in the house, but to have his disgrace 
shouted out by small boys, to feel that they despised him, 
to be unable to silence them by any amount of torture, 
and to see the open laugh and sneer of his own associates, 
who were looking on and took no trouble to hide their 
scorn from him, though they neither interfered with his 
bullying nor lived a bit the less intimately with him, made 
him beside himself. Come what might, he would make 
those boys’ lives miserable. So the strife settled down into 
a personal affair between Flashman and our youngsters; a 
war to the knife, to be fought out in the little cock-pit at 
the end of the bottom passage. 

Flashman, be it said, was about seventeen years old, and 
big and strong of his age. He played well at all games 
where pluck wasn’t much wanted, and managed generally 
to keep up appearances where it was; and having a bluff 
off-hand manner, which passed for heartiness, and con- 
siderable powers of being pleasant when he liked, went 
down with the school in general for a good fellow enough. 
Even in the school-house, by dint of his command of 
money, the constant supply of good things which he kept 
up, and his adroit toadyism, he had managed to make 
himself not only tolerated, but rather popular among his 
own contemporaries; although young Brooke scarcely 
spoke to him, and one or two others of the right sort 
showed their opinions of him whenever a chance offered. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


133 


But the wrong sort happened to be in the ascendant just 
now, so Flashrnan was a formidable enemy for small boys. 
This soon became plain enough. Flashrnan left no slander 
unspoken, and no deed undone, which could in any way 
hurt his victims, or isolate them from the rest of the 
house. One by one most of the other rebels fell away from 
them, while Flashman’s cause prospered and several other 
fifth-form boys began to look black at them and ill-treat 
them as they passed about the house. By keeping out of 
bounds, or at all events out of the house and quadrangle, 
all day, and carefully barring themselves in at night. East 
and Tom managed to hold on without feeling very misera- 
ble; but it was as much as they could do. Greatly were 
they drawn then toward old Diggs, who, in an uncouth 
way, began to take a good deal of notice of them, and 
once or twice came to their study when Flashrnan was 
there, who immediately decamped in consequence. The 
boys thought that Diggs must have been watching. 

When, therefore, about this time, an auction was one 
night announced to take place in the hall, at which, among 
the superfluities of other boys, all Diggs’s penates for the 
time being were going to the hammer. East and Tom laid 
their heads together, and resolved to devote their ready 
cash (some four shillings sterling) to redeem such articles 
as that sum would cover. Accordingly, they duly attend- 
ed to bid, and Tom became the owner of two lots of Diggs’s 
things; lot 1, price one-and-threepence,* consisting, as the 
auctioneer remarked, of a “ valuable assortment of old 
metals,” iu the shape of a mouse-trap, a cheese-toaster 
without a handle, and a saucepan; lot 2, of a villainous 
dirty table-cloth and a green-baize curtain; while East for 
^ne-and-sixpence purchased a leather paper-case, with a 
lock but no key, once handsome, but now much the worse 
for wear. But they had still the point to settle of how to 
get Diggs to take the things without hurting his feelings. 
This they solved by leaving them in his study, which was 
never locked when he was out. Diggs, who had attended 
the auction, remembered who had bought the lots, and 
came to their study soon after, and sat silent for some 
time, cracking his great red finger-joints. Then he laid 
hold of their verses, and began looking over and altering 
them, and at last got up, and turning his back to them, 
said; “ You’re ^common good-hearted little beggars, you 


134 


TOM brown’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 


two — I value that paper-case; my sister gave it me last 
holidays — I won’t forget;” and so tumbled out into the 
passage, leaving them somewhat embarrassed, but not 
sorry that he knew what they had done. 

The next morning was Saturday, the day on which the 
allowances of one shilling a week were paid, an important 
event to spendthrift youngsters; and great was the disgust 
among the small fry to hear that all the allowances had 
been impounded for the Derby lottery. That great event 
in the English year, the Derby, was celebrated at Rugby 
in those days by many lotteries. It was not an improving 
custom, I own, gentle reader, and led to making books 
and betting and other objectionable results; but when our 
great Houses of Palaver think it right to stop the nation’s 
business on that day, and many of the members bet heavily 
themselves, can you blame us boys for following the ex- 
ample of our betters? — at any rate we did follow it. First 
there was the great school lottery, where the first prize 
was six or seven pounds, then each house had one or more 
separate lotteries. These were all nominally voluntary, 
no boy being compelled to put in his shilling who oidn’t 
choose to do so; but besides Flasliman, there were three or 
four other fast sporting young gentlemen in the school- 
house, who considered subscription a matter of duty aud 
necessity, and so, to make their duty come easy to the 
small boys, quietly secured the allowances in a lump when 
given out for distribution, and kept them. It was no use 
grumbling — so many fewer tartlets and apples were eaten 
and fives’-balls bought on that Saturday: and after lock- 
ing-up, when the money would otherwise have been spent, 
consolation was carried to many a small boy, by the sound 
of the night fags shouting along the passages: 

“ Gentlemen sportsmen of the school-house, the lot- 
tery’s going to be drawn in the hall.” 

It was pleasant to be called a gentleman sportsman — 
also to have a chance of drawing a favorite horse. 

The hall was full of boys, and at t‘he head of one of the 
long tables stood the sporting interest, with a hat before 
them, in which were the tickets folded up. One of them 
then began calling out the list of the house; each boy as 
his name was called drew a ticket from the hat and opened 
it: and most of the bigger boys, after drawing, left the 
hall directly, to go back to their stmlw* or the fifth-form 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


135 


room. The sporting interest had all drawn blanks, and 
they were sulky accordingly; neither of the favorites had 
yet been drawn, and it had comedown to the upper-fourth. 
So now, as each small boy came up and drew his ticket, it. 
was seized and opened by Flashman, or some other of the 
standers-by. But no great favorite is drawn until it comes 
to the Tadpole’s turn, and he shuffles up and draws, and 
tries to make off, but is caught, and his ticket is opened 
like the rest. 

“ Here you are! Wanderer! the third favorite,” shouts 
the opener. 

44 I. say, just give me my ticket, please,” remonstrates 
Tadpole. 

44 Halloo, don’t be in a hurry,” breaks in Flashman; 
“ what’ll you sell Wanderer for, now?” 

41 1 don’t want to sell,” rejoins Tadpole. 

44 Oh, don’t you! Now listen, you young fool — you 
don’t know anything about it; the horse is no use to you. 
He won’t win, but I want him as a hedge. Now I’ll give 
you half a crown for him.” 

Tadpole holds out but between threats and cajoleries at 
length sells half for one-shilling-and-sixpence, about a fifth 
of its fair market value; however, he is glad to realize any- 
thing, and as he wisely remarks: 

44 Wanderer mayn’t win, and the tizzy is safe anyhow.” 

East presently comes up, and draws a blank. Soon 
after comes Tom’s turn; his ticket, like the others, is 
seized and opened. 

44 Here you are, then!” shouts the opener, holding it 
up. 44 Harkaway? By Jove, Flashey, your young friend’s 
in luck. ” 

44 Give me the ticket,” says Flashman, with an oath, 
leaning across the table with open hand, and his face blank 
with rage. 

44 Wouldn’t you like it?” replies the opener, not a bad 
fellow at the bottom, and no admirer of Flashman’s. 
“ Hero, Brown, catch hold,” and he hands the ticket to 
Tom, who pockets it; whereupon Flashman makes for the 
door at once, that Tom and the ticket may not escape, 
and there keeps watch until the drawing is over and all the 
boys are gone, except the sporting set of five or six, who 
stay to compare books, make bets, and so on, Toni, who 


136 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


doesn’t choose to move while Flashman is at the door, and 
East, who stays by his friend, anticipating trouble. 

The sporting set now gathered round Tom. Public 
opinion wouldn’t allow them actually to rob him of his 
ticket, but any humbug or intimidation by which he could 
be driven to sell the whole or part at an under-value was 
lawful. 

“ Now, young Brown, come, what’ll you sell me Harka- 
way for? 1 hear he isn’t going to start. I’ll give you five 
shillings for him,” begins the boy who had opened the 
ticket. Tom, remembering his good deed, and moreover 
in his forlorn state wishing to make a friend, is about to 
accept the offer, when another cries out: 

“ I’ll give you seven shillings.” 

Tom hesitated, and looked from one to the other. 

“ No, no!” said Flashman, pushing in, “ leave me to 
deal with him; we’ll draw lots for it afterward. Now, sir, 
you know me— you’ll sell Harkaway to us for five shillings, 
or you’ll repent it.” 

“ I won’t sell a bit of him,” answered Tom, shortly. 

“You hear that now!” said Flashman, turning to the 
others. 

“ He’s the coxiest young blackguard in the house — I 
always told you so. We’re to have all the trouble and 
risk of getting up the lotteries for the benefit of such fel- 
lows as he. ” 

Flashman forgets to explain what risk they ran, but he 
speaks to willing ears. Gambling makes boys selfish and 
cruel as well as men. 

“That’s true* — we always draw blanks,” cried one. 
“ Now, sir, you shall sell half, at any rate.” 

“ I won’t,” said Tom, flushing up to his hair, and lump- 
ing them all in his mind with his sworn enemy. 

“ Very well, then, let’s roast him!” cried Flashman, 
and catches hold of Tom by the collar; one or two boys 
hesitate, but the rest join in. East seizes Tom’s arm and 
tries to pull him away, but is knocked back by one of the 
boys, and Tom is dragged along, struggling. His shoul- 
ders are pushed against the mantel-piece, and he is held by 
main force before the fire, Flashman drawing his trousers 
tight by way of extra torture. Poor Fast, in more pain 
even than Tom, suddenly thinks of Diggs^ and darts off to 
find him* 


TOM brown's school-days. 137 

“ Will you sell now for ten shillings?” says one boy, 
•who is relenting. 

Tom only answered by groans and struggles. 

“ 1 say, Flashey, he lias had enough,” says the same 
boy, dropping the arm he holds. 

“ No, no; another turn'll do it,” answered Flashman. 

But poor Tom is done already, turns deathly pale, and 
his head falls forward on his breast, just as Diggs, in fran- 
tic excitement, rushes into the hall with East at his heels. 

44 You cowardly brutes!” is all he can say, as he catches 
Tom from them and supports him to the hall-table. 
44 Good God! he's dying. Here, get some cold water — 
run for the housekeeper.” 

Flashman and one or two others slink away; the rest, 
ashamed and sorry, bend over Tom or run for water, while 
East darts off for the housekeeper. Water comes, and 
they throw it on his hands and face, and he begins to 
come to. 

44 Mother!” — the words came feebly and slowly — “ It's 
very cold to-night.” Poor old Diggs is blubbering like a 
child. “ Where am I?” goes on Tom, opening his eyes. 
44 Ah! I remember now!” and he shut his eyes again and 
groaned. 

“ 1 say,” is whispered, “ we can't do any good, and the 
housekeeper will be here in a minute,” and all but one 
steal away; he stays with Diggs, silent and sorrowful, and 
fans Tom's face. 

The housekeeper comes in with strong salts, and Tom 
soon recovers enough to sit up. There is a smell of burn- 
ing; she examines his clothes, and looks up inquiringly. 
The boys are silent. 

44 How did he come so?” 

No answer. 

“ There's been some bad work here,” she adds, looking 
very serious, “ and I shall speak to the doctor about it.” 

Still no answer. 

44 Hadn't we better carry him to the sick-room?” sug- 
gests Diggs. 

44 Oh, I can walk now,” says Tom; and, supported by 
East and the housekeeper, goes to the sick-room. The boy 
who held his ground is soon among the rest, who ftil in 
the fear of their lives. 

“ Did he peach? Does she kno\y about it? ,J 


133 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“ Not a v/ord — he’s a stanch little fellow.” And paus- 
ing a moment, he adds, “ I’m sick of this work; what 
brutes we have been!” 

Meantime, Tom is stretched on the sofa in the house- 
keeper’s room, with East by his side, while she gets wine 
and water and other restoratives. 

“ Are you much hurt, dear old boy?” whispers East. 

“ Only the back of my legs,” answered Tom. 

They are indeed badly scorched, and part of his trousers 
burned through. But soon he is in bed, with cold ban- 
dages. At first he feels broken, and thinks of writing 
home and getting taken away; and the verse of the hymn 
he had learned years ago sings through his head, and he 
goes to sleep, murmuring: 

“ Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest.” 

But after a sound night's rest the old boy-spirit comes 
back again. East comes in reporting that that whole 
house is with him, and he forgets everything except their 
old resolve never to be beaten by that bullv Flashman. 

Not a word could the housekeeper extract from either of 
them, and though the doctor knew all that she knew that 
morning, he never knew any more. 

I trust and believe that such scenes are not possible now 
at school, and that lotteries and betting-books have gone 
out; but I am writing of schools as they were in our time, 
and must give the evil with the good. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A CHAPTER OP ACCIDENTS. 


Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances 
Of moving accidents by flood and field, 

Of hairbreadth ’scapes. 

Shakespeare. 


When Tom came back into school after a couple of days 
in the sick-room, he found matters much changed for ths 
better, as East had led him to expect. Flash man’s bru- 
tality had disgusted most even of his intimate friends, and 
his cowardice had once more been made plain to the house; 
for Diggs had encountered him on the morning after 1 he 
lottery, and after high words qii both sides had struck him, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


139 


and the blow was not returned. However, Fiashey was 
not unused to this sort of thing, and had lived through as 
awkward affairs before, and, as Diggs had said, fed and 
toadied himself back into favor again. Two or three of 
(he boys who had helped to roast Tom came up and begged 
his pardon, and thanked him for not telling anything. 
Morgan sent for him, and was inclined to take the matter 
up warmly, but Tom begged him not to do it; to which 
he agreed on Tom’s promising to come to him at once in 
future— a promise which I regret to say he didn’t keep. 
Tom kept Harkaway all to himself, and won the second 
prize in the' lottery, some thirty shillings, which he and 
East contrived to spend in about three days, in the pur- 
chase of pictures for their study, two new bats and a 
cricket-ball, all the best that could be got, and a supper of 
sausages, kidneys, and beef-steak pies to all the rebels. 
Light come, light go; they wouldn’t have been comforta- 
ble with money in their pockets in the middle of the half. 

The embers of Flashman’s wrath, however, were still 
smoldering, and burst out every now and then in sly blows 
and taunts, and they both hit that they hadn’t quite done 
with him yet. It wasn’t long, however, before the last act 
of that drama came, and with it the end of bullying for 
Tom and East at Rugby. They now often stole out into 
the hall at nights, incited thereto partly by the hope of 
finding Diggs there and having a talk with him, partly by 
the excitement of doing something which was against rules; 
for, sad to say, both of our youngsters, since their loss of 
character for steadiness in their form, had got into the 
habit of doing things which were forbidden, as a matter of 
adventure; just in the same way, I should fancy, as men 
fall into smuggling, and for the same sort of reasons. 
Thoughtlessness in the first place. It never occurred to 
them to consider why such and such rules were laid down; 
the reason was nothing 10 them; and they only looked 
upon rides as a sort of challenge from the rule-makers, 
which it would be rather bad pluck in them not to accept; 
and then again, in the lower parts of the school they hadn’t 
enough to do. The work of the form they could manage 
to get through pretty easily, keeping a good enough place 
to get their regular yearly remove; and not having much 
ambition beyond this, their whole superfluous steam was 
available for games aud scrapes. Now, one rule of the 


140 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


house which it was a daily pleasure of all such boys to 
break, was that after supper all fags, except the three on 
duty in the passages, should remain in their own studies 
until nine o’clock; and if caught about the passages ot 
hall, or in one another’s studies, they were liable to pun- 
ishments or caning. The rule was stricter than its ob- 
servance; for most of the sixth spent their evenings in the 
fifth-form room, where the library was, and the lessons 
were learned in common. Every now and then, however, 
a praipostor would be seized with a fit of district visiting, 
and would make a tour of the passages and hall and the 
fags’ studies. Then, if the owner were entertaining a 
friend or two, the first kick at the door and ominous 
“ Open here,” had the effect of the shadow of a hawk over 
a chicken-yard, every one cut to cover — one small boy div- 
ing under the sofa, another under the table, while the 
owner would hastily pull down a book or two and open 
them, and cry out in a meek voice, “ Halloo, who’s 
there?” casting an anxious eye round to see that no pro- 
truding leg or elbow could betray the hidden boys. 
“Open, sir, directly; it’s Snooks.” “Oh, I’m very 
sorry; I didn’t know it was you, Snooks;” and then, with 
well-feigned zeal, the door would be opened, young hope- 
ful praying that that beast Snooks mightn’t have heard the 
scuffle caused by his coming. If a study was empty, 
Snooks proceeded to draw the passages and hall to find the 
truants. 

Well, one evening, in forbidden hours, Tom and East 
were in the hall. They occupied the seats before the fire 
nearest the door, while Diggs sprawled as usual before the 
further fire. He was busy with a copy of verses, and East 
and Tom were chatting together in whispers by the light 
of the fire, and splicing a favorite old fives’-bat which had 
sprung. Presently a step came down the bottom passage; 
they listened a moment, assured themselves that it wasn’t 
a praepostor, and then went on with their work, and the 
door swung open, and in walked Flashman. He didn’t 
see Diggs and thought it a good chance to keep his hand 
in; and as the boys didn’t move for him, struck one of 
them, to make them get out of his way. 

“ What’s that for?” growled the assaulted one. 

“ Because 1 choose. You’ve no busiuess here; go to 
your study,” 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


141 


41 You can’t send us.” 

“ Can’t 1? Then I’ll thrash you if you stay,” said 
Flash man, savagely. 

“ I say, you two,” said Diggs, from the end of the hall, 
rousing up and resting himself on his elbow, “ you’ll never 
get rid of that fellow till you lick him. Go in at him, ))oth 
of you — I’ll see fair play.” 

Flashman was taken aback, and retreated two steps. 
East looked at Tom. 

“ Shall we try?” said he. 

“ Yes,” said Tom, desperately. 

So the two advanced on Flashman, with clinched fists 
and beating hearts. They were about up to his shoulder, 
but tough boys of their age, and in perfect training; while 
he, though strong and big, was in poor condition, from 
his monstrous habit of stuffing and want of exercise. 
Coward as he was, however, Flashman couldn’t swallow 
such an insult as this; besides, he was confident of having 
easy work, and so faced the boys, saying: 

“ You impudent young blackguards!” 

Before he could finish his abuse they rushed in on him, 
and began pummeling at all of him which they could 
reach. He hit out wildly and savagely, but the full force 
of his blows didn’t tell, they were too near him. It was 
long odds, though in, point of strength, and in another 
minute Tom went spinning backward over a form, and 
Flashman turned to demolish East, with a savage grin. 
But now Diggs jumped downHrom the table on which he 
had seated himself. 

“ Stop there,” shouted he; “ the round’s over — half 
minute time allowed.” 

“ What the is it to you?” faltered Flashman, who 

began to lose heart. 

“ I’m going to see fair play, I tell you,” said Diggs, with 
a grin, and snapping his great red fingers; “ ’tain’t fair for 
you to be fighting one of them at a time. Are you ready. 
Brown? Time’s up.” 

The small boys rushed in again. Closing they saw was 
their best chance, and Flashman was wilder and more 
flurried than ever; he caught East by the throat, and tried 
to force him back on the iron-bound table; Tom grasped 
his waist, and, remembering the old throw he had learned 
in the Vale from Harry Winburn, crooked his leg inside 


148 


TOM brown’s SCHOOL- 1> At 8. 


Flashman’s, and threw his whole weight forward. The 
three tottered for a moment, and then over they went on 
to the floor, Flashman striking his head against a form in 
the hall. 

The two youngsters sprung to their legs, but he lay there 
a'ill. • They began to be frightened. Tom stooped down, 
and then cried out, scared out of his wits: 

“He’s bleeding awfully; come here. East, Diggs — he’s 
dying!” 

“ Not he,” said Diggs, getting leisurely off the table. 
“ It’s all sham — he’s only afraid to fight it out.” 

East was frightened as 'torn. Diggs lifted Flashman 
bead, and he groaned. 

“ What’s the matter?” shouted Diggs. 

“ My skull’s fractured,” sobbed Flashman. 

“ Oh, let me run for the housekeeper!” cried Tom. 
“ What shall we do?” 

“ Fiddlesticks! it’s nothing but the skin broken,” said 
the relentless Diggs, feeling his head. “ Cold water and 
a bit of rag’s all he’ll want.” 

“ Let me go,” said Flashman, surlily, sitting up; “ I 
don’t want your help.” 

“ We’re really very sorry,” began East. 

“ Hang your sorrow,” answered Flashman, holding his 
handkerchief to the place; “ you shall pay for this, I can 
tell you, both of you.” 

And he walked out of the hall. 

• 

“ He can’t be very bad,” said Tom, with a deep sigh, 
much relieved to see his enemy march so well. 

“ Not he,” said Diggs. “ And you’ll see you won’t be 
troubled with him any more. But, I say, your head’s 
broken too— your collar is covered with blood.” 

“ Is it, though?” said Tom, putting up his hand; “ 1 
didn’t know it.” 

“ Well, mop it up, or you’ll have your jacket spoiled. 
And you have got a nasty eye. Scud; you’d better go and 
bathe it well in cold water.” • • 

“ Cheap enough too, if we’ve done with our old friend 
Flashey,” said East, as they made off upstairs to bathe 
their wounds. 

They had done with Flashman in one sense for he never 
laid finger on either of them again; but whatever harm a 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


Ub 


spiteful heart ami venomous tongue could do them he took 
care should be done. Only throw dirt enough, and some 
of it is sure to stick; and so it was with the fifth-form and 
the bigger boys in general, with whom he associated more 
or less, and they not at all. Flash man managed to get 
Tom and East into disfavor, which did not wear off for some 
time after the author of it had, disappeared from the school 
world. This event, much prayed for by the small fry in 
general, took place a few months after the above encount- 
er. One fine summer evening Flashman had been regal- 
ing himself on gin-punch, at Brownsover; and having ex- 
ceeded his usual limits, started home uproarious. He fell 
in with a friend or two coming back from bathing, pro- 
posed a glass of beer, to which they assented, the weather 
being hot, and they, thirsty souls, unaware of the 
quantity of drink which Flashman had already on board. 
The short result was, that Flashey became beastly drunk; 
they tried to get him along, but couldn't; so they char- 
tered a hurdle and two men to carry him. One of the 
masters came upon them, and they naturally enough fled. 
The flight of the rest raised the master’s suspicions, and 
the good angel of the fags incited him to examine the 
freight, and, after examination, to convoy the hurdle him- 
self up to the school-house; and the doctor, who had long 
had his eye on Flashman, arranged for his withdrawal next 
morning. 

The evil that men, and boys too, do, lives after them; 
Flashman was gone, but our boys, as hinted above, still 
felt the effects of his hate. Besides, they had been the 
movers of the strike against unlawful fagging. The cause 
was righteous — the result had been triumphant to a great 
extent; but the best of the fifth, even those who had never 
fagged the small boys, or had given up the practice cheer- 
fully, couldn’t help feeling a small grudge against the first 
rebels. After all, their form had been defied — on just 
grounds, no doubt; so just, indeed, that they had at once 
acknowledged the wrong and remained passive in the 
strife; had they sided with Flashman and his set, the rebels 
must have given away at once. They couldn’t help, on 
the whole, being glad that they had so acted, and that the 
resistance had been successful against such of their own 
form as had shown fight; they felt that law and order had 
gained thereby, but the ringleaders they couldn’t quite 


lit TOM BROWN ? S SCHOOL-DAYS. 

pardon at once. “ Confoundedly coxy those young rascals 
will get, if we don’t mind,” was the general feeling. 

So it is, and must be always, my dear boys. If the 
Angel Gabriel were to come down from heaven, and head 
a successful rise against the most abominable and unright- 
eous vested interest which this poor old world groans un- 
der, he would most certainly lose his character for many 
years, probably for centuries, not only with upholders of 
said vested interest, but with the respectable mass of the 
people whom he had delivered. . They wouldn’t ask him 
to dinner, or let their names appear with his in the papers; 
they would be very careful how they spoke of him in the 
Palaver, or at their clubs. What can we expect, then, 
when we have only poor gallant blundering men like Kos- 
suth, Garibaldi, Mazzini, and righteous causes which did 
not triumph in their hands; men who have holes enough 
in their armor, God knows, easy to be hit by respectabili- 
ties sitting in their lounging-chairs, and having large bal- 
ances at their bankers’? But you are brave, gallant boys, 
who hate easy-chairs, and have no balances or bankers. 
You only want to have vour head set straight to take the 
right side; so bear in mind that majorities, especially re- 
spectable ones, are nine times out of ten in the wrong; and 
that if you see a man or boy striving earnestly on the weak 
side, however wrong-headed or blundering he may be. you 
are not to go and join the cry against him. If you can’t 
join him and help him, and make him wiser, at any rate 
remember that he has found something in the world which 
he will fight and suffer for, which is just what you have 
got to do for yourselves; and so think and speak of him 
tenderly. 

So East and Tom, the Tadpole, and one or two more, 
became a sort of young Ishmaelites, their hands against 
every one, and every one’s hand against them. It has been 
already told how they got to war with the masters and the 
fifth-form, and with the sixth it was much the same. They 
saw the praepostors cowed by or joining with the fifth, and 
shirking their own duties; so they didn’t respect them, and 
rendered no willing obedience. It had been one thing to 
clean out studies for sons of heroes like old Brooke, but 
quite another to do the like for Snooks and Green, who had 
nover faced a good scrimmage at football, and couldn’t 
keep the passages in order at night. So they only slurred 


145 


TOM bkowm’s school-days. 

through their fagging just well enough to escape a licking, 
and not always that, and got the character of sulky, un- 
willing fags. In the fifth-form room, after supper, when 
such matters were often discussed and arranged, their 
names were forever coming up. 

“I say, Green,” Snooks began, one night, “isn’t that 
new boy, Harrison, your fag?” 

“ Yes; why?” 

“Oh, I know something of him at home, and should 
like to excuse him — will you swap?” 

“ Who will you give me?” 

“Well, let’s see; there’s Willis, Johnson — no, that 
won’t do. Yes, I have it — there’s young East, I’ll give 
you him.” 

“ Don’t you wish you may get it?” replied Green. “ I'll 
tell you what I’ll do — I’ll give you two for Willis, if you 
like.” 

“ Who, then?” asks Snooks. 

“ Hall and Brown.” 

“ Wouldn’t have ’em at a gift.” 

“ Better than East, though; for they ain’t quite so 
sharp,” said Green, gettingupand leaning his back against 
the mantel-piece — he wasn’t a bad fellow, and couldn’t 
help not being able to put down the unruly fifth form. 
His e)e twinkled as he went on: “ Did I ever tell you how 
the young vagabond sold me last half?” 

“ No; how?” 

“ Well, he never half cleaned my study out, only just 
stuck the candlesticks in the cupboard, and swept the 
crumbs on to the floor. So at last I was mortal angry, 
and had him up,, made him go through the whole per- 
formance under my eyes; the dust the young scamp made 
nearly choked me, and showed that he hadn’t swept the 
carpet before. Well, when it was all finished, 4 Now, 
young gentleman,’ says I, 4 mind I expect this to be done 
every morning, floor swept, table-cloth taken off and 
shaken, and everything dusted ’ 4 Very well,’ grunts he. 

Not a bit of it, though — I was quite sure in a day or two 
that he never took the table-cloth off even. So 1 laid a 
trap for him; I tore up some paper and put a half dozen 
bits on my table one night, and the cloth over them as 
usual. Next morning, afte. breakfast, up I came, pulled 
off the cloth, and sure enough there was the paper, which 


146 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-BAYS. 


flattered down on to the floor. 1 was in a towering rage. 

‘ I’ve got you now,’ thought I, and sent for him, while 1 
got out my cane. Up he came as cool as you please, with 
his hands in his pockets. 4 Didn’t I tell you to shake my 
table-cloth every morning?’ roared I. 4 Yes,’ says he. 

4 Did you do it this morning?’ 4 Yes.’ 4 You young liar! 
I put "these pieces of paper on the table last night, and if 
you’d taken the table-cloth off you’d have seen them, so 
I’m going to give you a good licking.’ Then my youngster 
takes one hand out of his pocket, and just stoops down 
and picks up two of the bits of paper, and holds them out 
to me. There was written on each, in great round text. 

4 Harry East, his mark.’ The young rogue had found my 
trap out, taken away my paper, and put some of his there, 
every bit ear-marked. I’d a great mind to lick him for 
his impudence, but after all one has no right to be laying 
traps, so I didn’t. Of course 1 was at his mercy till the 
end of the half, and in his weeks my study was so frowsy, 
I couldn’t sit in it.” 

“ They spoil one’s things so, too,” chimed in a third 
boy. 44 Hall and Brown were night-fags last week; I 
called fag, and gave them my candlesticks to clean; away 
they went, and didn’t appear again. When they’d had 
time enough to clean them three times over, I went out to 
look after them. They weren’t in the passages, so down I 
went into the hall, where I heard music, and there I found 
them sitting on the table, listening to Johnson, who was 
playing the flute, and my candlesticks stuck between the 
bars well into the fire, red-hot, clean spoiled; they’ve never 
stood straight since, and 1 must get some more. How- 
ever, I gave them both a good licking, that’s one comfort.” 

Such were the sort of scrapes they were always getting 
into; and so, partly by their own faults, partly from cir- 
cumstances, partly from the faults of others, they found 
themselves outlaws, ticket-of-leave men, or what you will 
in that line; in short, dangerous parties, and lived the sort 
of hand-to-mouth, wild, reckless life which such parties 
generally have to put up withe Nevertheless, they never 
quite lost favor with young Brooke, who was now the cock 
of the house, and just getting into the sixth, and Diggs 
stuck to them like a man, and gave them store of go 
advice, by which they never in the least profited. 

And even after the house m )nied, and law and ordei 


TOM brown's SCHOOL-DAYS. 


14 ? 


had been restored, which soon happened after young 
Brooke and Diggs got into the sixth, they couldn’t easily 
or at once return into the paths of steadiness, and many of 
the old wild out-of-bounds habits stuck to them as firmly 
as ever. While they had been quite little boys, the scrapes 
they got into iii the school hadn’t much mattered to any 
one; but now they were in the upper school, all wrong- 
doers from which were sent up straight to the doctor at 
once; so they began to come under his notice; and as they 
were a sort of leaders in a small way among their own con- 
temporaries, his eye, which was everywhere, was upon 
them. 

It was a toss-up whether they turned out well or ill, and 
so they were just the boys who caused most anxiety to such 
a master. You have been told of the first occasion on 
which they were sent up to the doctor, and the remem- 
brance of it was so pleasant that they had much less fear 
of him than most boys of their standing had. 

“ It’s all his look,” Tom used to say to East, “ that 
frightens fellows; don’t you remember, he never said any- 
thing to us my first half year, for being an hour late for 
locking up?” 

The next time that Tom came before him, however, the 
interview was of a very different kind. It happened just 
about the time at which we have now arrived, and was the 
first of a series of scrapes into which our hero managed 
now to tumble. 

The River Avon at Rugby is a slow and not very clear 
stream, in which chub, dace, roach, and. other coarse fish 
are, or were, plentiful enough, together with a fair sprin- 
kling of small jack, but no fish worth sixpence either for 
sport or food. It is, however, a capital river for bathing, 
as it has many nice small pools and several good reaches 
for swimming, all within about a mile of one another, and 
at an easy twenty minutes’ walk from the school.. This 
mile of water is rented, or used to be rented, for bathing 
purposes, by the trustees of the school, for the boys. The 
footpath to Brownsover crosses the river by “ the Planks,” 
a curious old single-plank bridge, running for fifty or sixty 
yards into the flat meadows on each side of the river— for 
in the winter there are frequent floods. Above the Planks 
were the bathing-places for the smaller boys; Sleath’s, the 
first bathing-plane where all new boys had to begin, until 


148 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


they had proved to the bathing men (three steady indi- 
viduals who were paid to attend daily through the summer 
to prevent accidents) that they could swim pretty decent- 
ly, when they were allowed to go on to Anstey's, about one 
hundred and fifty yards below. Here there was a hole 
about six feet deep and twelve feet across, over which the 
puffing urchins struggled to the opposite side, and thought 
no small beer of themselves for having been out of their 
depth. Below the Planks came larger and deeper holes, 
the first of which was Wratislaw’s, and the last Swift's, a 
famous hole, ten or twelve feet deep in parts, and thirty 
yards across, from which there was a fine swimming reach 
right down to the mill. Swift's was reserved for the sixth 
and fifth forms, and had a spring-board and two sets of 
steps; the other's had one set of steps each, and were used 
indifferently by all the lower boys, though each house ad- 
dicted itself more to one hole than to another. The school- 
house at this time affected Wratislaw's hole, and Tom aud 
East, who had learned to swim like fishes, were to be found 
there as regular as the clock through the summer, always 
twice, aud often three times a day. 

Now the boys either had, or fancied they had, a right 
also to fish at their pleasure over the whole of this part of 
the river, and would not understand that the right, if any, 
only extended to the Rugby side. As ill-luck would have 
it, the gentleman who owned the opposite bank, after 
allowing it for some time without interference, had ordered 
his keepers not to let the boys fish on his side, the conse- 
quence of which had been, that there had been first 
wranglings and then fights between the keepers and boys; 
and so keen had the quarrel become, that the landlord and 
his keepers, after a ducking had been inflicted on one of 
the latter, and a fierce fight ensued thereon, had been up 
to the great school at calling-oyer to identify the delin- 
quents, and it was all the doctor himself and five or six 
masters could do to keep the peace. Not even his au- 
thority could prevent the hissing; and so strong was the 
feeling, that the four praepostors of the week walked up the 
school with their canes, shouting “ S-s-s-s-i-lenc-c-c-c-e!" 
at the top of their voices. However, the chief offenders 
for the time were flogged and kept m bounds, but the vic- 
torious party had brought a nice hornets'-nest about their 
ears. The landlord was hissed at the school-gates as he 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


149 


rode past, and when he charged his horse at the mob of 
boys, and tried to thrash them with his whip, was driven 
back with cricket-bats and wickets, and pursued with 
pebbles aud fives'-balls; while the wretched keepers’ lives 
were a burden to them, from having to watch the waters 
so closely. 

The school-house boys of Tom's standing, one and all, 
as a protest against this tyranny and cutting short of their 
lawful amusements, took to fishing in all ways and espe- 
cially by means of night-lines. The little tackle-maker at 
the bottom of the town would soon have made his fortune 
had the rage lasted, and several of the barbers began to 
lay in fishing-tackle. The boys had this great advantage 
over their enemies, that they spent a large portion of the 
day in nature's garb by the river-side, and so, when tired 
of swimming, would get out on the other side and fish, or 
set night-lines till the keeper hove in sight, and then 
piunge in and swim back and mix with the other bathers, 
and the keepers were too wise to follow across the stream. 

While things were in this state, one day Tom and three 
or four others were bathing at Wratislaw's, and had, as a 
matter of course, been taking up and resetting night-lines. 
They had all left the water, and were sitting or standing 
about at their toilets, in all costumes from a shirt upward, 
when they were aware of a man in a velveteen shooting- 
coat approaching from the other side. He was a new 
keeper; so they didn't recognize or notice him, till he 
pulled up right opposite, and began: 

“ I see’d some of you young gentlemen over this side 
a-fisning just now." 

“ Halloo! who are you? what business is that of yours, 
©Id Velveteens?" 

“ I'm the new under-keeper, and master’s told me to 
keep a sharp lookout on all o' you young chaps. Aud I 
tells 'ee I means business, and you'd better keep on your 
own side, or we shall fall out." 

Well, that's right. Velveteens — speak out, and let's 
know your mind at once." 

“ Look here, old boy," cried East, holding up a misera 
ble, coarse fish or two and a small jack, “ would you like 
to smell ’em and see which bank they lived under?" 

“ HI give you a bit of advice, keeper," shouted Tom, 
tyho w$s sitting in his shirt paddling with his feet ip the 


150 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


river; “ you’d better go down there to Swift’s, where the 
big boys are, they’re beggars at setting lines, and ’ll put 
you up to a wrinkle or two for catching the five-pounders.” 

Torn was nearest to the keeper, and that officer, who 
wa3 getting angry at the chaff, fixed his eyes on our hero, 
as if to take a note of him for future use. Tom returned 
his gaze with a steady stare, and then broke into a laugh, 
and struck into the middle of a favorite school-house 
song — 

“ * As I and my companions 
Were setting of a snare, 

The game-keeper was watching us; 

For him we did not care : 

For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, 

And jump out anywhere, 

For it’s my delight of a likely night, 

In the season of the year.’ ” 

The chorus was taken up by the other boys with shouts 
of laughter, and the keeper turned away with a grunt, but 
evidently bent on mischief. The boys thought no more of 
the matter. 

But now came on the may-fly season; the soft, hazy 
summer weather lay sleepily along the rich meadows by 
Avon-side, and the green and gray flies flickered with their 
graceful, lazy, up-and-down flight over the reeds and the 
water and the meadows, in myriads upon myriads. The 
may-flies must surely be the lotus-eaters of the ephemera?; 
the happiest, laziest, carelessest fly that dances and dreams 
out his few hours of sunshiny life by English rivers. 

Every little pitiful coarse fish in the Avon was on the 
alert for the flies, and gorging his wretched carcass with 
hundreds daily, the gluttonous rogues! and every lover of 
the gentle craft was out to avenge the poor may-flies. 

So one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom having borrowed 
East’s new rod, started by himself to the river. He fished 
for some time with small success, not a fish would rise at 
him; but as he prowled along the bank, he was presently 
aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool on the opposite 
side, under the shade of a huge willow-tree. The stream 
was deep here, but some fifty yards below was a shallow, 
for which he made off hot foot; and forgetting landlords, 
keepers, solemn prohibitions of the doctor, and everything 
^lse, pulled up his trousers, plunged across, and in three 


TOM BROWN’h SCHOOL-DAYS. 151 


minutes was creeping along on all-fours toward the clump 
of willows. 


It isn’t often that great chub, or any other coarse fish 
are in earnest about anything, but just then they were 
thoroughly bent on feeding, and in half an hour Master 
Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at the foot of 
the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth pounder, 
and just going to throw in again, he became aware of a 
man coming up the bank not one hundred yards off. An- 
other look told him that it was the under-keeper. Could 
he reach the shallow before him? No, not carrying his 
rod. Nothing for it but the tree; so Tom laid his bones 
to it, shinning up as fast as he could, and dragging up his 
rod after him. Ife had just time to reach and crouch 
along upon a huge branch some ten feet up, which stretched 
out over the river, when the keeper arrived at the clump. 
Tom’s heart beat fast as he came under the tree; two 
steps more and he would have passed, when, as ill-luck 
would have it, the gleam on the scales of the dead fish 
caught his eye, and he made a dead point at the foot of the 
tree. He picked up the fish one by one; his eye and touch 
told him that they had been alive and feeding within the 
hour. Tom crouched lower along the branch, and heard 
the keeper beating the clump. 

“ If I could only get the rod hidden,” thought he, and 
began gently shifting it to get it alongside him; “ willow- 
trees don’t throw out straight hickory shoots twelve feet 
long, with no leaves, worse luck!” 

Alas! the keeper catches the rustle, and then a sight of 
the rod, and then of Tom’s hand and arm. 

“ Oh, be up ther’, be ’ee?” says he, running under the 
tree. “ Now you come down this minute.” 

“ Tree’d at last!” thinks Tom, making no answer, and 
keeping as close as possible, but working away at t he rod, 
which he takes to pieces; “ i’rn in for it, unless I can 
starve him out.” 


And then he begins to meditate getting along the branch 
for a plunge and scramble to the other side; but the small 
branches are so thick, and the opposite bank so difficult, 
that the keeper will have lots of time to get round by the 
ford before he can get out, so he gives that up. And now 


152 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


That will never do; so he scrambles himself back to where 
his branch joins the trunk, and stands with lifted rod. 

“ llalloo. Velveteens, mind your fingers if you come any 
higher!” 

The keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin, 
says: 

“ Oh! be you, be it, young master? Well, here’s luck. 
Now 1 tells ’ee to come down at once, and ’t’ll be best for 
’ee.” 

“ Thank’ee, Velveteens, Fin very comfortable,” said 
Tom, shortening the rod in his hand, and preparing for 
battle. 

“ VVerry well, please jmurself,” says the keeper, de- 
scending, however, to the ground again, and taking his 
seat on the bank; “ I bean’t in no hurry, so you med take 
your time. Fli larn ’ee to gee honest folk names afore 
I’ve done with ’ee. ” 

“ My luck, as usual,” thinks Tom; “ what a fool I was 
to give him a black. If Fd called him 4 keeper ’ now 1 
might get off. The return match is all his way.” 

The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill, 
and light it, keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat discon- 
solately across the branch, looking at the keeper — a pitiful 
sight for men and fishes. The more he thought of it the 
less he liked it. 

“ It must be getting near second calling-over,” thinks 
he. Keeper smokes on stolidly. “If he takes me up, I 
shall be flogged safe enough. I can’t sit here all night. 
Wonder if he’ll rise at silver? I say, keeper,” said he, 
meekly, “ let me go for two bob?” 

“ Not for twenty, neither,” grunts his persecutor. 

And so they sat on till long past second calling-over, and 
the sun came slanting in through the willow branches, and 
telling of locking-up near at hand. 

“ Fm coming down, keeper,” said Tom, at last, with a 
sigh, fairly tired out. “ Now, what are you going to do?” 

“ Walk ’ee up to school, and give ’ee over to the doctor; 
them’s my orders,” says Velveteens, knocking the ashes 
out of his fourth pipe, and standing up and shaking him- 
self. 

“ Very good,” said Tom; “but hands off, you know. 
I’ll go with you quietly, so no collaring or that sort of 
thing. ” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


153 


Keeper looked at him a minute — “ Werry good/’ said 
he, at last; and so Tom descended, and wended his way 
drearily by the side of the keeper up to the school-house, 
where they arrived just at locking-up. As they passed 
the school gates, the Tadpole and several others who were 
standing there caught the state of things, and rushed out 
crying, “ Rescue!” but Tom shook his head, so they only 
followed to the doctor’s gate, and went back sorely puzzled. 

How changed and stern the doctor seemed from the last 
time that Tom was up there, as the keeper told the story, 
not omitting to state how Tom had called him blackguard 
names. “ Indeed, sir,” broke in the culprit, “ it was only 
Velveteens.” The doctor only asked one question. 

“ You know the rule about the banks. Brown?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson.” 

“ I thought so,” muttered Tom. 

“ And about the rod, sir?” went on the keeper; “ master’s 
told we as we might have all the rods — ” 

“ Oh, please, sir,” broke in Tom, “ the rod isn’t mine.” 
The doctor looked puzzled, but the keeper, who was a good- 
hearted tellow, and melted at Tom’s evident distress, gave 
up his claim. Tom was flogged next morning, and a few 
days afterward met Velveteens, and presented him with half 
a crown for giving up the rod claim, and they became sworn 
friends; and I regret to say that Tom had many more fish 
from under the willow that may-fly season, and was never 
caught again by Velveteens. 

It wasn’t three weeks before Tom, and now East by his 
side, were again in the awful presence. This time, how- 
ever, the doctor was not so terrible. A few days before 
the£ had been fagged at fives to fetch the balls that went 
off the court. While standing watching the game, they 
saw five or six nearly new balls hit on top of the school. 
“ I say, Tom,” said East, when they were dismissed, 
“ couldn’t we get those balls somehow?” 

“ Let’s try, anyhow.” 

So they reconnoitered the walls carefully, borrowed a coal 
hammer from old Stumps, bought some big nails, and 
after one or two attempts scaled the schools, and possessed 
themselves of huge quantities of fives’-balls. The place 
pleased them so much that they spent all their spare time 
there, scratching and cutting their names on the top of 


154 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


every tower; and at last, having exhausted all othe/- places, 
finished up with inscribing II. East, T. Brown, on the 
minute-hand of the great clock, in the doing of which they 
held the minute-hand, and disturbed the clock’s economy. 
So next morning, when masters and boys came trooping 
down to prayers, and entered the quadrangle, the injured 
minute-hand was indicating three minutes to the hour. 
They all pulled up, and took their time. When the hour 
struck, doors were closed, and half the school late. Thomas, 
being sent to make inquiry, discovers their names on the 
minute hand, and reports accordingly; and they are sent 
for, a knot of their friends making derisive and pantomimic 
allusions to what their fate will be, as they walk off. 

But the doctor, after hearing their story, doesn’t make 
much of it, and only gives them thirty lines of Homer to 
learn by heart, and a lecture on the likelihood of such ex- 
ploits ending in broken bones. 

Alas! almost the next day was one of the great fair3 in 
the town; and as several rows and other disagreeable acci- 
dents had of late taken place on these occasions, the doctor 
gives out, after prayers in the morning, that no boy is to 
go down into the town. Wherefore East and Tom, for no 
earthly pleasure except that of doing what they are told hot 
to do, start away, after second lesson, and making a short 
circuit through the fields, strike a back lane which leads 
into the town, go down it, and run plump upon one of the 
masters as they emerge into the High Street. The master 
in question, though a very clever, is not a righteous mau, 
ho has already caught several of his own pupils, and gives 
them lines to learn, while he sends East and Tom, who are 
not his pupils up to the doctor, who, on learning that ttiey 
had been at prayers in the morning, flogs them soundly. 

The flogging did them no good at the time, for the in- 
justice of their captor was rankling in their minds; but it 
was just at the end of the half, and on the next evening 
but one Thomas knocks at their door, and says the doctor 
wants to see them. They look at one another in silent dis- 
may. What can it be now? Which of their countless 
wrong-doings can he have heard of officially? However, it 
is no use delaying, so up they go to the study. There they 
T*ud the doctor, not angry, but very grave. “ He has sent 
/or them to speak very seriously before they go home. They 
nave each been flogged several times in the half year for 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


155 


direct and willful breaches of rules. This can not go on. 
They are doing no good to themselves or others, and now 
they are getting up in the school, and have influence. 
They seem to think that rules are made capriciously, and 
for the pleasure of the masters; but this is not so, they 
are made for the good of the whole school, and must and 
shall be obeyed. Those who thoughtlessly or willfully 
break them will not be allowed to stay at the school. He 
should be sorry if they had to leave, as the school might do 
them both much good, and wishes them to think very seri- 
ously in the holidays over what he has said. Good-night. " 

And so the two hurry off horribly scared; the idea of 
having to leave has never crossed their mind, and is quite 
unbearable. 

As they go out, they meet at the door old Holmes, a 
sturdy cheery praepostor of another house, who goes in to 
the doctor; and they hear his genial hearty greeting of the 
new-comer, so different to their own reception, as the door 
closes, and return to their study with heavy hearts, and 
tremendous resolves to break no more rules. 

Five minutes afterward the master of their form, a late 
arrival and a model young master, knocks at the doctor's 
study door. “ Come in!" and as he enters the doctor goes 
on, to Holmes — “ You see, 1 do not know anything of the 
case officially, and if 1 take any notice of it at all I must 

publicly expel the boy. I don't wish to do that, for I think 

there is some good in him. There's nothing for it but a 

good sound thrashing." He paused to shake hands with 

the master, which Holmes does also, and then prepares to 
leave. 

“I understand. Good-night, sir." 

“ Good-night, Holmes. And remember," added the 
doctor, emphasizing the words, “ a good sound thrashing 
before the whole house." t 

The door closed upon Holmes; and the doctor, in answei 
to the puzzled look of his lieutenant, explained shortly. 

“ A gross case of bullying. Wharton, the head of the house 
if a very good fellow, but slight and weak, and severe phys- 
ical pain is the only way to deal with such a case; so I have 
asked Holmes to take it up. He is very careful and trust- 
worthy, and has plenty of slrenglh. I wish all the sixth 
had as much. We must have it here, if we are to kee# 
order at all." 


156 


TOM BIIOWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


Njw 1 don’t want any wiseacres to read this book, but if 
diey shouid, of course they will prick up their long ears, 
and howl, or rather bray, at the above story. Very good, 
I don’t object; but what I have to add for you boys is 
this: that Holmes called a levy of his house after breakfast 
next morning, made them a speech on the case of bullying 
in question, and then gave the bully a “ good sound thrash- 
ing;” and that years afterward, that boy sought out Holmes, 
and thanked him, saying it had been the kindest act which 
had ever been done upon him, and the turning-point in 
his character; and a very good fellow he became, and a 
credit to his school. 

After some other talk between them, the doctor said: 

“ 1 want to speak to you about two boys in your form, 
East and Brown; 1 have just been speaking to them. 
What do you think of them?” 

“ Well, they are not hard workers, and very thoughtless 
and full of spirits — but I can’t help liking them. I think 
they are sound, good fellows at the bottom.” 

“I’m glad of it. I think so too. But they make me 
very uneasy. They are taking the lead a good deal among 
the fags in my house, for they are very active, bold fellows. 
1 should be sorry to lose them, but I sha’n’t let them stay if 
1 don’t see them gaining character and manliness. In an- 
other year they may do great harm to all the younger boys. ” 

“ Oh, I hope you won’t send them away,” pleaded their 
master. 

“ Not if I can help it. But now 1 never feel sure, after 
any half-holiday, that 1 sha’n’t have to flog one of them 
next morning for some foolish, thoughtless scrape. 1 
quite dread seeing either of them.” 

They were both silent for a minute. Presently the doc- 
tor began again: 

“ They don’t feel that they have any duty or work to do 
in the school, and how is one to make them feel it?” 

“ 1 think if either of them had some little boy to take 
care of, it would steady them. Brown is the most reckless 
of the two, I should say; East wouldn’t get into so many 
scrapes without him.” 

“Well,” said the doctor, with something like a sigh, 
“I’ll think of it.” And they went on to talk of other 
subjects. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


15 7 


PART II. 

T hold it truth, with him who sings. 

To one clear harp in divers tones, 

That men may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things. 

Tennyson. 


CHAPTER 1. 

HOW THE TIDE TURNED. 

Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide 

In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side: 
*********** 

Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside, 

Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified. 

Lowell. 

The turning point in our hero’s school career had now 
come, and the manner of it was as follows. On the even- 
ing of the first day of the next half year, Tom. East and 
another school-house boy, who had just been dropped at 
the Spread Eagle by the old Regulator, rushed into the 
matron’s room in high spirits, such as all real boys are in 
when they first get back, however fond they may be of 
home. 

“Well, Mrs. Wixie,” shouted one, seizing on the meth- 
odical, active, little dark-eyed woman, who was busy stow- 
ing away the linen of the boys who had already arrived into 
their several pigeon-holes, “ here we are again, you see, as 
jolly as ever. Let us help you put the things away.” 

“ And, Mary,” cried another (she was called indiffer- 
ently by either name), “ who’s come back? Has the doc- 
tor made old Jones leave? How many new boys are there?” 

“ Am I and East to have Gray’s study? You know you 
promised to get it for us it you cbuld,” shouted Tom. 

“ And am 1 to sleep in number four?” roared East. 

“ How’s old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally?” 

“ Bless the boys!” cries Mary, at last getting in a word, 
“ why, you’ll shake me to death. There now, do go 
away up to the housekeeper’s room and get your suppers; 
you know I haven’t time to talk — you’ll find plenty more 


158 


TOM hhown’s school-days. 


iii the house. Now, Master East, do let those I lungs alone 
- — you’re mixing up these three new boys’ things.” And 
she rushed at, East, who eseaped round the open trunks 
holding up n prize. 

“ Halloo, look here, Toning,” shouted he, “ here’s fun!” 
and lie brandished above his head some pretty little night- 
caps, beautifully made and marked, the work of loving fin- 
gers in some distant country. The kind mother and sisters, 
who sewed that delicate stitching with aching hearts, little 
thought of the trouble they might be bringing on the young 
head fof which they were meant. The little matron was 
wiser, and snatched the caps from East before he could 
look at the name on them. 

“ Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you don’t 
go,” said she; “ there’s some capital cold beef and pickles 
upstairs, and I won’t have you old boys in my room 
first night.” 

“Hurrah for the pickles! Come along, Tommy; come 
along, Smith. We shall find out who the young count is, 
I’ll be bound. 1 hope he’ll sleep in my room. Mary’s 
always vicious first week.” 

As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron touched 
Tom’s arm, and said, “ Master Brown, please stop a min- 
ute; I want to speak to you. ” 

“ Very well, Mary, i’ll come in a minute: East, don’t 
finish the pickles — ” 

“ Oh, Master Brown, went on the little matron, when the 
rest had gone, “ you’re to have Gray’s study, Mrs. Arnold 
says. And she wants you to take in this young gentleman, 
lie’s a new boy, and thirteen years old, though he don’t look 
it. He’s very delicate, and has never been from home be- 
fore. And 1 told Mrs. Arnold 1 thought you’d be kind to 
him, and see that they don’t bully him at first. He’s put 
into your form, and I’ve given him the bed next to yours, 
in number four; so East can’t sleep there this half.” 

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had got 
the double study which he coveted, but here were conditions 
attached which greatly moderated his joy. He looked 
across the room, and in the far corner of the sofa was 
aware of a slight pale boy, with large blue eyes and light 
fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor. 
He saw at a glance that the little stranger was just the boy 
whose first half year at a public school would be misery to 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


15 & 

himself if he were left alone, or constant anxiety to any 
one who meant to see him through his troubles. Tom was 
too honest to take in the youngster and then let him shift for 
himself; and if he took him in as his chum instead of East, 
where were all the pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar 
under his window, and making night-lines and slings and 
plotting expeditions to Brownsover Mills and Caldecott’s 
Spinny? East and he had marie up their minds to get this 
study, and then every night from locking-up till ten they 
would be together to talk about fishing, drink bottled beer, 
read Marryat’s novels, and sort birds’ eggs. And this new 
boy would most likely never go out of the close, and would 
be afraid of wet feet, and always getting laughed at and 
called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine nick- 
name. 

The matron watched him for a moment, and saw what 
was passing in his mind, and so, like a wise negotiator, 
threw in an appeal to his warm heart. “ Poor little fel- 
low,” said she in almost a whisper, “ his father’s dead, and 
he’s got no brothers. And his mamma, such a kind, sweet 
lady, almost broke her heart at leaving him this morning; 
and she said one of his sisters was like to die of decline, and 
so — ” 

“ Well, well,” burst in Tom, with something like a sigh, 
at the effort, “ 1 suppose I must give up East. Come 
along, young ’un. What’s your name? We’ll go and have 
some supper, and then I’ll show you our study.” 

“ His name’s George Arthur,” said the matron, walking 
up to him with Tom, who grasped his little delicate hand 
as the proper preliminary to making a chum of him, and 
felt as if he could have blown him away. “ I’ve had his 
books and things put into the study, which his mamma has 
had new papered, and the sofa covered, and new green- 
baize curtains over the door ” (the diplomatic matron threw 
this in, to show that the new boy was contributing largely 
to the partnership comforts). “ And Mrs. Arnold told 
me to say,” she added, “ that she should like you both to 
come up to tea with her. You know the way, Master 
Brown, and the things are just gone up, 1 know.” 

Here was an announcement for Master Tom! He was to 
go up to tea the first night, just as if he were a sixth or 
fifth-form boy, and of importance in the school world, in- 
stead of the most reckless young scapegrace among the fags. 


160 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


He felfc himself lifted on to a higher social and moral plat- 
form once. Nevertheless, he couldn’t give up without a 
sigh the idea of the jolly supper in the housekeeper’s room 
with East and the rest, and a rush round to all the studies 
of his friends afterward, to pour out the deeds and wonders 
of the holidays, to plot fifty plans for the coming half, 
year, and to gather news of who had left, and what new 
boys had come, who had got who’s study, and where the 
new praepostor slept. However, Tom consoled himself 
with thinking that he couldn’t have done all this with the 
new boy at his heels, and so marched off along the pas- 
sages to the doctor’s private house with his young charge in 
tow, in monstrous good humor with himself and all the 
world. 

It is needless and would be impertinent, to tell how the 
two young boys were received in that drawing-room. The 
lady who presided there is still living, and has carried with 
her to her peaceful home in the North the respect and love 
of all those who ever felt and shared that gentle and high- 
bred hospitality. Ay, many is the brave heart now doing 
its work and bearing its load in country curacies, London 
chambers, under the Indian sun, and in Australian towns 
and clearings, which looks back with fond and grateful 
memory to that school-house drawing-room, and dates much 
of its highest and best training to the lessons learned there. 

Besides Mrs. Arnold and one or two of the elder children, 
there was one of the young masters, young Brooke — who 
was now in the sixth, and had succeeded to his brother’s 
position and influence — and another sixth-form boy there, 
talking together before the fire. The master and young 
Brooke, now a great strapping fellow six feet high, eight- 
een years old, and powerful as a coal-heaver, nodded kindly 
to Tom, to his intense glory, and then went on talking; 
the others did not notice them. The hostess, after a few 
kind words, which led the boys at once and insensibly to 
feel at their ease, and to begin talking to one another, left 
: hem with her own children while she finished a letter. 
The young ones got on fast and well, Tom holding forth a 
prodigious pony he had been riding out hunting, and hear- 
ing stories of the winter glories of the lakes, when tea came 
in, and immediately after the doctor himself. 

How frank, and kind, and manly, was his greeting to 
the party by the fire! It did Tom’s heart good to s<*e him 


16 1 


TOM BROWK’S SCHOOL-DAYg. 

and yonng Brooke shake hands, and look one another in 
the face; and he didn’t fail to remark, that Brooke was 
nearly as tall, and quite as broad as the doctor. And his 
cup was full, when in another moment his master turned 
to him with another warm shake of the hand, and, sev?m 
ingly oblivious oi all the late scrapes which he had been get- 
ting into, said, “ Ah, Brown, you here! I hope you ieffc 
your father and all well at home?” 

“Yes, sir, quite well.” 

“And this is the little fellow that is to share your study. 
Well, he doesn’t look as we should like to see him. lie 
wants some Rugby air, and cricket. And you must take 
him some good long walks, to Bilton Grange and Calde- 
cott’s Spinny, and show him what a little pretty country we 
have about here.” 

Tom wondered if the doctor knew that his visits to Bilton 
Grange were for the purpose of taking rooks’ nests ( a pro- 
ceeding strongly discountenanced by the owner thereof), 
and those to Caldecott’s 3pinny were prompted chiefly by 
the conveniences of setting night-lines. What didn’t the 
doctor know? And what a noble use he always made of 
it! He almost resolved to abjure rook-pies and night-lines 
forever. The tea went merrily off, the doctor now talking 
of holiday doings, and then of the prospects of the half 
year, what chance there was for the Balliol scholarship, 
whether the eleven would be a good one. Everybody was 
at his ease, and everybody felt that he, young as he might 
be, was of some use in the little school world, and ha I a 
work to do there. 

Soon after tea the doctor went off to his study, and tht 
young boys a few minutes afterward took their leave, and 
went out of the private door which led from the doctor’s 
house into the middle passage. 

At the fire, at the further end of the passage, was a crowd 
of boys in loud talk and laughter. There was a sudden 
pause when the door opened, and then a great shout of 
greeting, as Tom was recognized marching down the pas- 
sage. 

“ Halloo, Brown, where did you come from?” 

“ Oh, I’ve been to tea with the doctor,” says Tom, with 
great dignity.- 

u My eye!” cried East. “ Oh, so that’s why Mary 


162 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


called you back, and you didn’t come to supper. You 
lost something — that beef and pickles was no end good.” 

“ I say, young fellow,” cried Hall, detecting Arthur, and 
catching him by the collar, “ what’s your name? Where 
do you come from? How old are you?” 

Tom saw Arthur shrink back, and look scared as all 
the group turned to him, but thought it best to let him 
answer, just standing by his side to support in case of need. 

“ Arthur, sir. 1 come from Devonshire.” 

“ Don’t call me 6 sir,’ you young muff. How old are 
you?” 

“Thirteen.” 

“ Can you sing?” 

The poor boy was trembling and hesitating. Tom struck 
in: 

“ You be hanged, Tadpole. He’ll have to sing, whether 
Ao can or not, Saturday twelve weeks, and that’s long 
enough off yet.” 

“ Do you know him at home, Brown?” 

“ No; but he’s my chum in Gray’s old study, and it’s 
near prayer time, and I haven’t had a look at it yet. Come 
along, Arthur.” 

Away went the two, Tom longing to get his charge safe 
under cover, where he might advise him on his deport- 
ment. 

“ What a queer chum for Tom Brown,” was the comment 
at the fire: and it must be confessed, so thought Tom 
himself, as he lighted his candle, and surveyed the new 
green-baize curtains and carpet and sofa with much satis- 
faction. 

“ I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make us 
so cosy. But look here, now, you must answer straight 
up when the fellows speak to you, and don’t be afraid. If 
you’re afraid, you’ll get bullied. And don’t you say you 
can sing; and don’t you ever talk about home, or your 
mother and sisters.” 

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry. 

“ But please,” said he, “ mayn’t I talk about — about 
home to you?” 

“ Oh, yes, 1 like it. But don’t talk to boys you don’t 
know, or they’ll call you a home-sick, or mammy’s darling, 
or some such stuff. What a jolly desk! Is that yours? 


Tom brow Vs school-Bavs. 


1G3 


And what stunning binding! why, your school-books look 
like novels!” 

And Torn was soon deep in Arthur’s goods and chattels, 
all new and good enough for a fifth-form boy, and hardly 
thought of his friends outside, till (he prayer-bell rang. 

I have already described the school-house prayers; they 
were the same on the first night as on the other rights, 
save for the gaps caused by the absence of those boys who 
came late, and the line of new boys who stood all 
together at the further table— of all sorts and sizes, 
like young bears with all their troubles to come, as 
Tom’s father had said to him when he was in the same 
position. He thought of it as he looked at the line, and 
poor little slight Arthur standing with them, and as he was 
leading him upstairs to number four, directly after prayers, 
and showing him his bed. It was a huge, high, airy room, 
with two large windows looking on to the school close. 
There were twelve beds in the room. The one in the fur- 
thest corner by the fire-place occupied by the sixth form hoy, 
who was responsible for (he discipline of the room, and the 
**est by boys in the lower-fifth and other junior forms, all 
fags (for the fifth-form boys, as has been said, slept in 
rooms by themselves). Being fags, the eldest of them was 
not more than about sixteen years old, and were all bound 
to be up and in bed by ten; the sixth-form boys came to bed 
from ten to a quarter past (at which time the old verger 
same round to put the candles out), except when they sat 
ip to read. 

Within a few minutes therefore of their entry, all the 
other boys who slept in number four had come up. The 
'ittle fellows went quietly to their own beds, and began 
undressing and talking to each other in whispers'; while 
v he elder, among whom was Tom, sat chatting about on 
r ; ne another's beds, with their jackets and waistcoats off. 
Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his 
position. The idea of sleeping in the room with strange 
boys had clearly never crossed his mind before, and was as 
painful as it was strange to him. lie could hardly bear to 
take his jacket off; however, presently, with an effort, off 
it came, and then he paused and looked at Tom, who was 
sitting at the bottom of his bed talking and laughing. 

“ Please, Brown,” he whispered, “ may I wash my face 
and hands.” 


134 


TOM BROWN *8 SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“ Of course, if you like/’ said Tom, staring; “ that’s 
your wash-hand stand, under the window, second from 
your bed. You'll have to go down for more in the 
morning if you use it all.” And on he went with his 
talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds out 
to his wash-hand stand, and began his ablutions, thereby 
drawing for a moment on himself the attention of the 
room. 

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his 
washing and undressing, and put on his night-gown. He 
then looked around more nervously than ever. Two or 
three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting up with 
their chins on their knees. The light burned clear, the 
noise went on. It was a trying moment for the poor little 
lonely boy; however, this time he didn’t ask Tom what he 
might or might not do, but dropped on his knees by the 
bedside, as he had done every day from his childhood, to 
open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth 
the sorrows of the tender child, and the strong man in 
agony. 

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his 
boots, so that his back was toward Arthur, and he didn’t 
see what had happened, and looked up in wonder at the 
sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed and 
sneered, and a big brutal fellow, who was standing in the 
middle of the room, picked up a slipper, and shied it at 
the kneeling boy, calling him a sniveling young shaver. 
Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment the boot 
he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, 
who had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on his 
elbow. 

“ Confound yon. Brown, what’s that for?” roared he, 
stamping with pain. 

“ Hever mind what I mean,” said Tom, stepping on to 
the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling; “ if any 
fellow wants the other boot he knows how to get it.” 

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this 
moment the sixth-form boy came in, and not another word 
could be said. Tom and the rest rushed into bed and 
finished their unrobing there, and the old verger, as punc- 
tual as the clock, had put out the candle in another minute, 
and toddled on to the next room, shutting their door with 
his usual “ Good-night, gen’l’m’n.” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


135 


There were many boys in the room by whom that little 
scene was taken to heart before they slept. But sleep 
seemed to have deserted the pillow of poor Tom. For 
some time his excitement, and the flood of memories which 
chased one another through his brain, kept him from think- 
ing or resolving. His head throbbed, his heart leaped, and 
he could hardly keep himself from springing out of bed 
and rushing about the room. Then the thought of his 
own mother came across him, and the promise he made at 
her knee, years ago, never to forget to kneel by his bedside 
and give himself up to his Father, before he laid his head 
on the pillow, from which it might never rise; and he laid 
down gently and cried as if his heart would break. He 
was only fourteen years old. 

It was no light act of courage in those days, my dear 
boys, for a little fellow to say his prayers publicly, even at 
Rugby. A few years later, when Arnold’s manly piety 
had begun to leaven the school, the tables turned; before 
he died, in the school-house, at least, and I believe in the 
other houses, the rule was the other way. But poor Tom 
had come to school in other times. The first few nights 
after he came he did not kneel down because of the noise, 
but sat up in bed till the candle was out, and then stole 
out and said his prayers in fear, lest some one should find 
him out. JSo did many another poor little fellow. Then he 
began to think that he might just as well say his prayers 
in bed, and then that it didn’t matter whether he was kneel- 
ing, or sitting, or lying down. And so it had come to pass 
with Tom as with all who will not confess their Lord before 
men, and for the last year he had probably not said his 
prayers in earnest a dozen times. 

Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which was like 
to break his heart was the sense of his own cowardice. The 
vice of all others which he loathed was brought in and 
burned in on his own soul. He had lied to his mother, to 
his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? And 
then the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and 
almost scorned for his weakness, had done that which he, 
braggart as he was, dared not do. The first dawn of com- 
fort came to him in swearing to himself that he would stand 
by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him, and 
help him, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done 
that night. Then lie resolved to write home next day and 


iCG 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


tell his mother all, awl what a coward her son had been. 
And then peace came to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear 
his testimony next morning. The morning would be harder 
than the night to begin with, but he felt that he could not 
afford to let one chance slip. Several times he faltered, 
for the devil showed him, first, all his friends calling him 
“ Saint ” and “ Square-toes,” and a dozen hard names, and 
whispered to him that his motives would be misunderstood, 
and he would only be left alone with the new boy; wdiereas 
it was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he 
might do good to the largest number. And then came the 
more subtle temptation, “ Shull I not be showing myself 
braver than others by doing this? Have I any right to 
begin it now? Ought 1 not rather to pray in my own 
study, letting other boys know that I do so, and trying to 
lead them to it, while in public, at least, 1 should go on 
as I have done?” However, his good angel was too strong 
that night, and he turned on his side and slept, tired of 
trying to reason, but resolved to follow the impulse which 
had been so strong, and in which he had found peace. 

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but 
his jacket and waistcoat, just as the ten minutes’ bell began 
to ring, and then in the face of the whole room knelt down 
to pray. Not five words could he say — the bell mockeu 
him; he was listening for every whisper in the room — what 
were they all thinking of him? He was ashamed to go on 
kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees. At last, as it 
were from his inmost heart, a still small voice seemed to 
breathe forth the words of the publican, * God be merci- 
ful to me a sinner!” He repeated them over and over, 
clinging to them as for his life, and rose from his knees 
comforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world. 
It was not needed, two other boys besides Arthur had 
already followed his example, and he went down to the 
great school with a glimmering of another lesson in his 
heart — the lesson that he who has conquered his own cow- 
ard spirit has conquered the whole outward world; and 
that other one which the old prophet learned in the cave 
at Mount Horeb when he hid his face, and the still small 
voice asked, “ What doest thou here, Elijah?” that, how- 
ever, we may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the 
King and Lord of men is nowhere without his witnesses; 
for in every society, however seemingly corrupt and god- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS- 


107 


less, there are those who have not bowed the knee to Baal. 
He found too, how greatly he had exaggerated the effect, 
to be produced by his act. For a few nights there was a 
sneer or a laugh when he knelt down, but this passed off 
soon, and one by one all the other boys but three or four 
followed the lead. 1 fear that this was in some measure 
owing to the fact, that Tom could probably have thrashed 
any boy in the room except the praepostor; at any rate, 
every boy knew that he would try upon very slight provo- 
cation, and didn't choose to run the risk of a hard fight 
because Tom Brown had taken a fancy to say his prayers. 
Some of the small boys of number four communicated the 
new state of things to their chums, and in several other 
rooms the poor little fellows tried it on; in one instance or 
so where the praepostor heard of it and interfered very 
decidedly, with partial success; but in the rest, after a 
short struggle, the confessors were bullied or laughed down, 
and the old state of things weut on for some time longer. 
Before either Tom Brown or Arthur left the school-house, 
there was no room in which it had not become the regular 
custom. 1 trust it is so still, and that the old heathen 
state of things has gone out forever. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW BOY. 

And Heaven’s rich instincts in him grew. 

As effortless as woodland nooks 
Send violets up and paint them blue, 

Lowell. 

I do not mean to recount all the little troubles and an- 
noyances which thronged upon Tom at the beginning of this 
half year in his new character of bear-leader to a gentle 
little boy straight from home. He seemed to himself to 
have become a new boy again, without any of the long- 
suffering and meekness indispensable for supporting that 
character with moderate success. From morning till night 
lie had the feeling of responsibility on his mind; and even 
if he left Arthur in their study or in the close for an hour, 
was never at ease till he had him in sight again. He waited 
for him at the doors of the school after every lesson and 
every calling-over; watched that no tricks were played him, 


168 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


and none but the regulation questions asked; kept his eye 
on his plate at dinner and breakfast, to see that no unfair 
depredations were made upon his viands; in short, as East 
remarked, cackled after him like a hen with one chick. 

Arthur took a long time thawing, too, which made it all 
the harder work; was sadly timid; scarcely ever spoke 
unless Tom spoke to him first; and, worst of all, would 
agree with him in everything, the hardest thing in the 
world for Brown to bear. He gotquite angry sometimes, 
as they sat together of. a night in their study, at this pro- 
voking habit of agreement, and was on the point of breaking 
out a dozen times with a lecture upon the propriety of a 
fellow having a will of his own and speaking it out; but 
managed to restrain himself by the thought that it might 
only frighten Arthur, and the remembrance of the lesson he 
had learned from him on his first night at number four. 
Then he would resolve to sit still, and not say a word till 
Arthur began; but he was always beat at that game, and 
had presently to begin talking in despair, fearing lest 
Arthur might think he was vexed at something if he didn’t, 
and dog-tired of sitting tongue-tied. 

It was hard work! But Tom had taken it up, and 
meant to stick to it, and go through with it, so as to satisfy 
himself; in which resolution he was much assisted by the 
chaffing of East and his other old friends, who began to 
call him “ dry nurse,” and otherwise to break their small 
wit on him. But when they took other ground, as they 
did every now and then, Tom was surely puzzled. 

“ Tell you what. Tommy,” East would say, “ you’ll 
spoil young Hopeful with too much coddling. Why can’t 
you let him go about by himself, and find his own level? 
He’ll never be worth a button, if you go on keeping him 
under your skirts.” 

“ Well, but he ain’t fit to fight his own way yet; I’m 
trying to get him to it every day — but he is very odd. 
Poor little beggar! .1 can’t make him out a bit. He ain’t 
a bit like anything I’ve ever seen or heard of — he seems all 
over nerves; anything you say seems to hurt him like a 
cut or blow.” 

“ That sort of boy’s no use here,” said East, “ he’ll only 
spoil. Now I’ll tell you what to do. Tommy. Go and get 
* nice large band-bo^ made, $nd put him in with plenty 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


169 

of cotton wool, and a pap-bottle, labeled ‘ With care — tliia 
side up,’ and send him back to mamma.” 

44 I think 1 shall make a hand of him, though/’ said 
Tom, smiling, “say what you will. There’s something 
about him, every now and then, which shows me he’s got 
pluck somewhere in him. That’s the only thing after all 
that’ll wash, ain’t it, old Scud? But how to get at it and 
bring it out?” 

Tom took one hand out of his breeches-pocket and stuck 
it in his back hair for a scratch, giving his hat a tilt over 
his nose, his one method. of invoking wisdom. He stared 
».t the ground with a ludicrously puzzled look, and pres- 
ently looked up and met East’s eyes. That young gentle- 
man slapped him on the back, and then put his arm round 
his shoulder, as they strolled through the quadrangle to- 
gether. 

“ Tom,” said he, “ blest if you ain’t the best old fellow 
ever was — 1 do like to see you go into a thing. Hang it, 
I wish I could take things as you do — but I never can get 
higher than a joke. Everything’s a joke. If 1 was going 
to be flogged next minute, 1 should be in a blue funk, 
but I couldn’t help laughing at it for the life of me.” 

“ Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on the great 
fives’-court.” 

“Halloo, though that’s past a joke,” broke out East, 
springing at the young gentleman who addressed them, 
and catching him by the collar. “Here, Tommy, catch 
hold of him t’other side before he can halloo.” 

The youth was seized, and dragged struggling out of the 
quadrangle into the school-house hall. He was one of the 
miserable little pretty white-handed, curly-headed boys, 
petted and pampered by some of the big fellows, who wrote 
their verses for them, taught them to drink and use bad lan- 
guage, and did all they could to spoil them for everything* 
in this world and the next. One of the avocations in which 
these young gentlemen took particular delight was in going 
about and getting fags for their protectors, when those 
heroes were playing any game. They carried about pencil 

* A kind and wise critic, an old Rugbman, notes lierc in the mar- 
gin: The “ small friend system was not so utterly bad from 1842 
1847.” Before that, too, there were many noble friendships be 
tween big and little boys, but i can’t strike out the passage: mar y 
boys will know why it is left uq 


170 


TOM BROWJS^S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


and pap§r with them, putting down the names of all the 
boys they sent, always sending five times as many as were 
wanted, and getting all those thrashed who didn’t go. The 
present youth belonged to a house which was jealous of 
the school-house, and always picked out school-house fags 
when he could find them. However, this time he’d got 
the wrong sow by the ear. His captors slammed the great 
door of the hall, and East put his back against it, while 
Tom gave the prisoner a shake up, took away his list, and 
stood him up on the floor, while he proceeded leisurely to 
examine that document. 

“ Let me out, let me go!” screamed the boy in a furious 
passion. “ I’ll go and tell Jones this minute, and he’ll 
give you both the thrashing you ever had. ” 

“ Pretty little dear,” said East, patting the top of his 
hat; “ hark how he swears, Tom. Nicely brought up 
young man, ain’t he, I don’t think.” 

“ Let me alone, you,” roared the boy, foaming 

with rage, and kicking at East, who quietly tripped him 
up, and deposited him on the floor in a place of safety. 

“ Gently, young fellow,” said he; “ ’tain’t improving for 
little whipper-snappers like you to be indulging in blas- 
phemy; so you stop that, or you’ll get something you won’t 
like. ” 

“ I’ll have you both licked when I get out, that I will/* 
rejoined the boy, beginning to snivel. 

“ Two can play at that game, mind you,” said Tom, 
who had finished his examination of the list. “ Now you 
just listen here We’ve just come across the fives’-court, 
and Jones has four fags there already, two more than he 
wants. If he’d wanted us to change, he’d have stopped 
us himself. And here, you little blackguard, you’ve got 
seven names down on your list besides ours, and five of 
them school-house.” Tom walked up to him and jerked 
him on to his legs; he was by this time whining hke a 
whipped puppy. 

“Now just listen to me. We ain’t going to fag for 
Jones. If you tell him you’ve sent us, we’ll each of us 
give you such a thrashing as you’ll remember,” and Tom 
tore up the list and threw the pieces into the fire. 

“ And mind you, too,” said East, “ don’t let me catch 
you again sneaking about the school-house, and picking up 
our fags. You haven’t got the sort of hide to take a 


TOM brown’s school-days. 


171 


sound licking kindly;” and he opened the door and sent 
the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle, with a 
parting kick. 

“ Nice boy. Tommy,” said East, shoving his hands into 
his pockets and strolling to the fire. 

“ Worst sort we breed,” responded Tom, following his 
example. “Thank goodness, no big fellow ever took to 
petting me.” 

“You’d never have been like that,” said East. “1 
should like to have put him in a museum — Christian young 
gentleman, nineteenth century, highly educated. Stir 
him up with a long pole, Jack, and hear him swear like a 
drunken sailor! He’d make a respectable public open its 
eyes, I think.” 

“ Think he’ll tell Jones?” said Tom. 

“ No,” said East. “ Don’t care if he does.” 

“ Nor I,” said Tom. And they went back to talk about 
Arthur. 

The young gentleman had brains enough not to tell 
Jones, reasoning that East and Brown, who were noted as 
some of the toughest fags in the school, wouldn’t care three 
straws for any licking Jones might give them, and would 
be likely to keep their words as to passing it on with in- 
terest. 

After the above conversation, East came a good deal to 
their study, and took notice of Arthur; and soon allowed 
to Tom that he was a thorough little gentleman, and 
would get over his shyness all in good time; which much 
comforted our hero. He felt every day, too, the value of 
having an object in his life, something that drew him out 
of himself; and, it being the dull time of the year, and no 
games going about which he much cared, was happier 
than he had ever yet been at school, which was saying a 
great deal. 

The time which Tom allowed himself away from his 
charge, was from locking-up till supper-time. During 
this hour or hour and a half he used to take his fling, going 
round to the studies of all his acquaintances, sparring or 
gossiping in the hall, now jumping the old iron-bound tables, 
or carving a bit of his name on them, then joining in some 
chorus of merry voices; in fact, blowing off his steam, as 
we should now call it. 

This process was so congenial to his temper, and Arthur 


17 2 tom brown’s school-days. 

showed himself so pleased at the arrangement, that it was 
several weeks before Tom was ever in their study before 
supper. One evening, however, he rushed in to look for 
an old chisel, or some corks, or other articles essential to 
his pursuit for the time being, and while rummaging about 
in the cupboards, looked up for a moment, and was caught 
at once by the figure of poor little Arthur. The boy was 
sitting with his elbows on the table, and his head leaning 
on his hands, and before him an open book, on which his 
tears were falling fast. Tom shut the door at once, and 
sat down on the sofa by Arthur, putting his arm around 
his neck. 

“ Why, young ’un! what’s the matter?” said he, kind- 
ly; “ you ain’t unhappy, are you?” 

“ Oh, no, Brown,” said the little boy, looking up with 
the great tears in his eyes, “ you are so kind to me, I’m 
very happy. 99 

“ Why don’t you call me Tom? Lots of boys do, that I 
don’t like half so much as you. What are you reading, 
then? Hang it, you must come about with me, and not 
mope yourself,” and Tom cast down his eyes on the book, 
and saw it was the Bible. He was silent for a minute, and 
thought to himself, “ Lesson number two, Tom Brown,” 
— and then said gently: 

“ I’m very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that 1 
don’t read the Bible more myself. Do you read it every 
night before supper while I’m out?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well, I wish you’d wait till afterward, and then we’d 
read together. But, Arthur, why does it make you cry?” 

“ Oh, it isn’t that I’m unhappy. But at home, while 
my father was alive, we always read the lessons after tea; 
and I love to read them over now, and try to remember 
what he said about them. I can’t remember all, and I 
think I scarcely understand a great deal of what I do re- 
member. But it all comes back to me so fresh that 1 can’t 
help crying sometimes to think 1 shall never read them 
again with him.” 

Arthur had never spoken of his home before, and Tom 
hadn’t encouraged him to do so, as his blundering school- 
boy reasoning made him think that Arthur would be soft' 
ened and less manly for thinking of home. But now lie 
was fully interested, and forgot all about chisels and bottled 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DATS. 


17 $ 


beer; while with very little encouragement Arthur launched 
into his home history, and the prayer-bell put them both 
out sadly when it rang to call them to the hall. 

From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home, 
and above all of his father, who had been dead about a 
year, and whose memory Tom soon got to love and rever- 
ence almost as much as his own son did. 

Arthur’s father had been the clergyman of a parish in 
the Midland Counties, which had risen into a large town 
during the war, and upon which the hard years which fol- 
lowed had fallen with a fearful weight. The trade had been 
hall ruined, and then came the old sad story, of masters re- 
ducing their establishments, men turned off and wandering 
about hungry and wan in body and fierce in soul, from the 
thought of wives and children starving at home, and the 
last sticks of furniture going to the pawn-shop. Children 
taken from school, and lounging about the dirty streets 
and courts, too listless almost to play, and squalid in rags 
and misery. And then the fearful struggle between the 
employers and men; lowerings of wages, strikes, and the 
long course of oft-repeated crime, ending every now and 
then with a riot, a fire, and the county yeomanry. There 
is no need here to dwell upon such tales; the Englishman 
into whose soul they have not sunk deep is not worthy the 
name; you English boys for whom this book is meant 
(God bless your bright faces and kind hearts!) will learn 
it all soon enough. 

Into such a parish and state of society, Arthur’s father 
had been thrown at the age of twenty-five, a young married 
parson, full of faith, hope and love. He had battled with 
it like a man, and had lots of fine Utopian ideas about the 
perfectibility of mankind, glorious humanity and such like 
knocked out of his head; and a real wholesome Christian 
love for the poor struggling, sinning men, of whom he 
felt himself one, and with and for whom he spent fortune, 
and strength, and life, driven into his heart. He had battled 
like a man, and had got a man’s reward. No silver tea- 
pots or salvers, with flowery inscriptions, setting forth his 
virtues and the appreciation of a genteel parish; no fat liv- 
ing nor stall, for which he never looked, and didn’t care; 
no sighs and praises of comfortable dowagers and well got- 
up young women, who worked him slippers, sugared his tea, 
adored him as “ a devoted man;” but a manlv respect, 


i'?4 tfOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 

\ 

wrung from the unwilling souls of men who fancied his 
order their natural enemies; the fear and hatred of every 
one who was false or unjust in the district, were he master 
or man; and the blessed sight of women and children daily 
becoming more human and more homely, a comfort to 
themselves and to their husbands and fathers. 

These things of course took time, and bad to be fought 
for with toil and sweat of brain and heart, and with the 
life-blood poured out. All that, Arthur had laid his ac- 
count to give, and took as a matter of course; neither pity- 
ing himself nor looking on himself as a martyr when he 
felt the wear and tear making him feel old before his time 
and the stifling air of fever dens telling on his health. His 
wife seconded him in everything. She had been rather fond 
of society, and much admired and run after before her 
marriage; and the London world, to which she had be- 
longed, pitied poor Fanny Evelyn when she married the 
young clergyman and went to settle in that smoky hole 
Turley, a very nest of Chartism and Atheism, in a part of 
the county which all the decent families had had to leave 
for years. However, somehow or other she didn’t seem to 
care. If her husband’s living had been among green fields 
and near pleasant neighbors, she would have liked it bet- 
ter, that she never pretended to deny. But there they were, 
the air wasn’t bad after all; the people were very good sort 
of people, civil to you if you were civil to them, after the 
first brush; and they didn’t expect to work miracles, and 
convert them all off-hand into model Christians. So he 
and she w T ent quietly among the folk, talking to and treat- 
ing them just as they would have done people of their own 
rank. They didn’t feel that they were doing anything out 
of the common fray, and so were perfectly natural, and 
had none of that condescension or consciousness of manner 
which so outrages the independent poor. And thus they 
gradually won respect and confidence; and after sixteen 
years he was looked up to by the whole neighborhood as the 
just man, the man to whom masters and men could go in 
their striker, and in all their quarrels and difficulties, and 
by whom the right and true word would be said without 
fear or favor. And the women had come round to take 
her advice, and go to her as a friend in all their troubles; 
while the children all worshiped the very ground she trod 
on. 


TOM BROWNES SCtJOOL-T)AY§. 


m 

They had three children, two daughters and a son, little 
Arthur, who came between his sisters. He had been a 
very delicate boy from his childhood; they thought he had 
a tendency to consumption, and so he had been kept at 
home and taught by his father, who had made a companion 
of him, and from whom he had gained good scholarship, 
and a knowledge of and interest in many subjects which 
boys in general never come across, till they are many years 
older. 

Just as he reached his thirteenth year, and his father 
had settled that he was strong enough to go to school, and, 
after much debating with himself, had resolved to send 
him there, a desperate typhus-fever broke out in the town; 
most of the other clergy, and almost all the doctors, ran 
away; the work fell with tenfold weight on those who stood 
to their work. Arthur and his wife both caught the fever, 
of which he died in a few days, and she recovered, having 
been able to nurse him to the end, and store up his last 
words. He was sensible to the last, and calm and happy, 
leaving his wife and children with fearless trust for a few 
years in the hands of the Lord and Friend who had lived 
and died for him, and for whom he, to the best of his 
power, had lived and died. His widow’s mourning was 
deep and gentle; she was more affected by the request of 
the Committee of a Free-thinking Club, established ini he 
town by some of the factory hands (which he had striven 
against with might and main, and nearly suppressed), that 
some of their number might be allowt-d to help bear the 
coffin, than by anything else. Two of them were chosen, 
who with six other laboring men, his own fcllow-wofkmen 
and friends, bore him to his grave — a man who had fought 
the Lord’s fight even unto the death. The shops were 
closed and the factories shut that day in the parish, yet no 
master stopped the day’s wages; but for many a year after- 
ward the townsfolk felt the want of that brave, hopeful, 
loving parson, and his wife, who had live! to teach them 
mutual forbearance and helpfulness, and bad almost at last 
given them a glimpse of what this old world would be if 
people would live for God and one another, instead of for 
themsel ves. 

What has all (his to do with our story? Well, my dear 
boys, let a fellow go on his own way, or you won’t get any- 
thing out of him worth having. I must show you what 


176 tom brown’s school-days. 

:.o; 1 of a man it was who had begotten and trained little 
Arthur, or else you won't believe in him, which I am re- 
solved you shall do; and you won’t see how he, the timid, 
weak boy, had points in him from which the bravest and 
strongest recoiled, and made his presence and example felt 
from the first on all sides, unconsciously to himself, and 
without the least attempt at proselytizing. The spirit of 
his father was in him, and (he Friend to whom his father 
had left him did not neglect the trust. 

After supper that night, and almost nightly for years 
afterward, Tom and Arthur, and by degrees East occasion- 
ally, and sometimes one, sometimes another, of their 
friends, read a chapter of the Bible together, and talked it 
over afterward. Tom was at first utterly astonished, and 
almost shocked, at the sort of way in which Arthur read 
the book, and talked about the men and women whose 
lives were there told. The first night they happened to 
fall on the chapters about the famine in Egypt, and Arthur 
began talking about Joseph as if he were a Jiving states- 
man; just as he might have talked about Lord Grey and 
the Reform Bill; only that they were much more living 
realities to him. The book was to him, Tom saw, the 
most vivid and delightful history of real people, who might 
do right or wrong, just like any one who was walking about 
in Rugby — the doctor, or the masters, or the sixth-form 
boys. But the astonishment soon passed off, the scales 
seemed to drop from his eyes, and the book became at once 
and forever to him the great human and divine book, and 
the men and women, whom he had looked upon as some- 
thing quite different from himself, became his friends and 
counselors. 

For our purposes, however, the history of one night’s 
reading will be sufficient, which must be told here, now we 
are on the subject, though it didn’t happen till a year 
afterward, and long after the events recorded in the next 
chapter of our story. 

Arthur, Tom and East were together one night, and 
read the story of Naaman coming to Elisha to be cured of 
his leprosy. When the chapter was finished, Tom shut his 
Bible with a slap. 

“ 1 can’t stand that fellow Naaman,” said he, “ after 
what he’d seen and felt, going back and bowing himself 
down in the house of Rimmon, because his effeminate 


TOM BKOWtf'S SCHOOL-DA VS. 


17 ? 


scoundrel of a master did it. I wonder Elisha took the 
trouble to heal him. How he must have despised him.” 

“ Yes, there you go off as usual, with a shell cn your 
head,” struck in East, who always took the opposite side 
to Tom; half from love of argument, half from convic- 
tion. “ How do you know he didn't think better of it? 
How do you know his master was a scoundrel? His letter 
don't look like it, and the book don't say so.” 

“ 1 don't care,” rejoined Tom; “ why did Naaman talk 
about bowing down, then, if he didn't mean to do it? He 
wasn't likely to get more in earnest when he got back to 
court, and away from the prophet.” 

“Well, but, Tom,'' said Arthur, “look what "Elisha 
said to him, ‘Go in peace.' He wouldn't have said that 
if Naaman had been in the wrong.” 

“ I don’t see that that means more than saying, ‘ You're 
not the man I took you for.' ” 

“ No, no; that won't do at all,” said East; “ read the 
words fairly, and take men as you find them. I like 
Naaman, and think he was a very fine fellow.” 

“ I don't,” said Tom, positively. 

“Well, 1 think East is right,” said Arthur; “I can't 
see but what it's right to do the best you can, though it 
mayn't be the best absolutely. Every man isn't born to 
be a martyr.” 

“ Of course, of course,” said East; “ but he’s on one of 
his pet hobbies. How often have I told you, Tom, that 
you must drive a nail where it’ll go.” 

“ And how often have I told you,” rejoined Tom, “ that 
it'll always go where you want, if you only stick to it and 
hit hard enough. I hate half measures and compromises.” 

“ Yes, he's a whole-hog man, is Tom. Must have the 
whole animal, hair and teeth, claws and tail,” laughed 
East. “ Sooner have no bread any day than half the 
loaf.” 

“ 1 don't know,” said Arthur, “ it’s rather puzzling; 
but ain't most right things got by proper compromises, I 
mean where the principle isn’t given up?” 

“ That's just the point,” said Tom; “ I don’t object to 
a compromise where you don’t give up your principle.” 

“Not you,” said East, laughingly. “1 know him of 
old, Arthur, and you’ll find him out some day. There 
isn’t such a reasonable fellow in the world, to hear him 


m 


To*r brown’s school-days. 


talk. He never wants anything but what’s right and fair, 
only when you come to settle what’s right and fair, it’s 
everything that he wants, and nothing that you want. 
And that’s his idea of a compromise. Give me the Brown 
compromise when I’m on his side.” 

“ Now, Harry/’ said Tom, “ no more chaff — I’m seri- 
ous. Look here — this is what makes my blood tingle;” 
and he turned over the pages of his Bible and read, 
“ Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and said to 
the king, ‘ Oh, Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to an- 
swer thee in this matter. If it be so, our God whom we 
serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, 
and He will deliver us out of thine hand, oh, king! But 
if not , be it known unto thee, oh, king! that we will not 
serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou 
hast set up.’ ” 

He read the last verse twice, emphasizing the nots, and 
dwelling on them as if they gave him actual pleasure, an<? 
were hard to part with. 

They were silent a minute, and then Arthur said: 

“ Yes, that’s a glorious story, but it don’t prove your 
point, Tom, I think. There are times when there is only 
one way, and that the highest, and then the men are found 
to stand in the breach.” 

“ There’s alwa}'s a highest way, and it’s always the right 
one,” said Tom. “ How many times has the doctor told 
us that in his sermons in the last year, 1 should like tc 
know?” 

“ Well, you ain’t going to convince us, is he, Arthur? 
No Brown compromise to-night,” said East, looking at his 
watch. “ But it’s past eight, and we must go to first les- 
son. What a bore!” 

So they took down their books and fell to work; but 
Arthur didn’t forget, and thought long and often over the 
conversation. 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


179 


CHAPTER III. 

ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND. 

Let nature be your teacher: 

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; 

Our meddling intellect 
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things. 

We murder to dissect — 

Enough of Science and of Art; 

Close up those barren leaves; 

Come forth, and bring with you a heart 

That watches and receives. 

Wordsworth. 

About six weeks later, after the beginning of the half, 
as Tom and Arthur were sitting one night before supper, 
beginning their verses, Arthur suddenly stopped and looked 
up, and said: 

“ Tom, do you know anything of Martin?” 

“ Yes,” said Tom, taking his hand out of his back hair, 
and delighted to throw his “ Gradus ad Parhassum ” on 
to the sofa; “ I know him pretty well. He’s a very good 
fellow, but as mad as a hatter. He’s called Madman, you 
know. And never was such a fellow for getting all sorts 
of rum things about him. He tamed two snakes last half, 
and used to carry them about in his pocket, and I’ll be 
bound he’s got some hedge-hogs and rats in his cupboard 
now, and no one knows what besides.” 

“ I should like very much to know him,” said Arthur; 
“ he was next to me in the form to-day, and he’d lost his 
book and looked over mine, and he seemed so kind and 
gentle that I liked him very much.” 

“ Ah, poor old Madman, he’s always losing his books,” 
said Tom, “ and getting called up and floored because he 
hasn’t got them. ” 

“ I like him all the better,” said Arthur. 

“ Well, he’s great fun, 1 can tell you,” said Tom, 
throwing himself back on the sofa, and chuckling at the 
remembrance. “ We had such a game with him one day 
last half. He had been kicking up horrid stinks for some 
time in his study, till 1 suppose some fellow told Mary, 
and she told the doctor. Anyhow, one day a little before 
dinner, when he came down from the library, the doctor, 


180 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-BAYS. 


instead of going home, came striding into the hall. East 
and I and five or six other fellows were at the fire, and 
preciously we stared, for he don’t come in like that once a 
year, unless it is a wet day and there is a fight in the hall. 
‘ East/ says he, ‘ just come and show me Martin’s study.’ 
4 Oh, here’s a game,’ whispered the rest of us, and we all 
cut upstairs after the doctor, East leading. As we got into 
the New Row, which was hardly wide enough to hold the 
doctor and his gown, click, click, click, we heard in the old 
Madman’s den. Then that stopped all of a sudden, and 
the bolts went to like fun; the Madman knew East’s step, 
and thought there was going to be a siege. 

“ ‘ It’s the doctor, Martin. He’s here and wants to see 
you/ sings out East. 

“ Then the bolts went back slowly, and the door opened, 
and there was the old Madman standing, looking precious 
scared; his jacket off, his shirt-sleeves up to his elbows, 
and his long, s'dnny arms all covered with anchors, and 
arrows, and letters, tattooed in with gunpowder like a 
sailor boy’s, and a stink fit to knock you down coming out. 
’Twas all the doctor could do to hold his ground, and East 
and I, who were looking in under his arms, held our noses 
tight. The old magpie was standing on the window-sill, 
all his feathers drooping, and looking disgusted and half 
poisoned. 

“ ‘ What can you be about, Martin?’ says the doctor; 
‘ you really mustn’t go on in this way — you’re a nuisance 
to the whole passage.’ 

“ ‘ Please, sir, I was only mixing up this powder; there 
isn’t any harm in it;” and the Madman seized nervously 
on his pestle and mortar, to show the doctor the harmless- 
ness of his pursuits, and went off pounding, click, click, 
click; he hadn’t given six clicks before, puff! up went the 
whole into a great blaze, away went the pestle and mortar 
across the study, and back we tumbled into the passage. 
The magpie fluttered down into the court, swearing, and 
the Madman danced out, howling, with his fingers in his 
mouth. The doctor caught hold of him, and called to us 
to fetch some water. ‘ There, you silly fellow/ said he, 
quite pleased though to find he wasn’t much hurt, * you 
see you don’t know the least what you’re doing with all 
these things; and now, mind, you must give up practicing 
chemistry by yourself. ’ Then he took hold of his arm and 


TOM brown's school-days. 181 

looked at it, and I saw he had to bite his lip, and his eyes 
twinkled; but he said, quite grave: 4 Here, you see, you’ve 
been making all these foolish marks on yourself, which 
you can never get out, and you’ll be very sorry for it in a 
year or two; now come down to the housekeeper’s room, 
and let us see if you are hurt.’ And away went the two, 
and we all stayed and had a regular turn-out of the den, 
till Martin came back with his hand bandaged and turned 
us out. However, I’ll go and see what he’s after, and tell 
him to come in after prayers to supper/’ And away went 
Tom to find the boy in question, who dwelt in a little study 
by himself, in New How. 

The aforesaid Martin, whom Arthur had taken such a 
fancy for, was one of those unfortunates who were at that 
time of day (and are, I fear, still) quite out of their places 
at a public school. If we knew how to use our boys, Mar- 
tin would have been seized upon and educated as a natural 
philosopher. He had a passion for birds, beasts, and in- 
sects, and knew more of them and their habits than any 
one in Rugby; except perhaps the doctor, who knew every- 
thing. He was also an experimental chemist on a small 
scale, and had made unto himself an electric machine, 
from which it was his greatest pleasure and glory to ad- 
minister small shocks to any small boys who were rash 
enough to venture into his study. And this was by no 
means an adventure free from excitement; for, besides the 
probability of a snake dropping on to your head or twining 
lovingly up your leg, or a rat getting into your breeches- 
pocket in search of food, there was the animal and chem- 
ical odor to be faced, which always hung about the den, and 
the chance of being blown up in some of the many experi- 
ments which Martin was always trying, with the most 
wondrous results in the shape of explosions and smells that 
mortal boy ever heard of. Of course, poor Martin, in con- 
sequence of his pursuits, had become an Ishmaelite in the 
house. In the first place, he half poisoned all his neigh- 
bors, and they in turn were always on the lookout to 
pounce upon any of his numerous live-stock, and drive him 
frantic by enticing his pet old magpie out of his window 
into a neighboring study, and making the disreputable old 
bird drunk on toast soaked in beer and sugar. Then Mar- 
tin, for his sins, inhabited a study looking into a small 
coart sonie ten feet across, the window of which w&s com- 


182 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


pletely commanded by those of the studies opposite in the 
sick-room row, these latter being at a slightly higher ele- 
vation. East, and another boy of an equally tormenting 
and ingenious turn of mind, now lived exactly opposite, 
and had expended huge pains aud time in the preparation 
of instruments of annoyance for the behoof of Martin aud 
his live company. One morning au old basket made its 
appearance, suspended by a short cord outside Martin’s 
window, in which were deposited an amateur nest contain- 
ing four young hungry jackdaws, the pride and glory of 
Martin’s life for the time being, and which he was current- 
ly asserted to have hatched upon his own person. Early 
in the morning, and late at night he was to be seen half 
out of the window, administering to the varied wants of 
his callow brood. After deep cogitation. East and his 
chum had spliced a knife on to the end of a fishing-rod; 
and having watched Martin out, had, after half an hour’s 
severe sawing, cut the string by which the basket was sus- 
pended, and tumbled it on to the pavement below, with 
hideous remonstrance from the occupants. Poor Martin, 
returning from his short absence, collected the fragments 
and replaced his brood (except one whose neck had been 
broken in the descent) in their old location, suspending 
them this time by string and wire twisted together, defiant 
of any sharp instrument which his persecutors could com- 
mand. But, like the Russian engineers at Sebastopol, East 
and his chum had an answer for every move of the adver- 
sary; and the next day had mounted a gun in the shape of 
a pea-shooter, upon the ledge of their window, trained so 
as to bear exactly upon the spot which Martin had to 
occupy while tending his nurslings. The moment he be- 
gan to feed, they began to shoot; in vain did the enemy 
himself invest in a pea-shooter, and endeavor to answer 
the fire while he fed the young birds with his other haud; 
his attention was divided, and his shots flew wild, while 
every one of theirs told on his face and hands, and drove 
him into howlings and imprecations. He was driven 
to ensconce the nest in a corner of his already too well- 
filled den. 

His door was barricaded by a set of ingenious bolts of his 
own invention, for the sieges were frequent by the neigh- 
bors when any unusually ambrosial odor spread itself from 
the den to the neighboring studies. The door panels were 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


183 


in a normal state of smash, but the frame of the door re- 
sisted all besiegers, and behind it th£ owner carried on his 
varied pursuits; much in the same state of mind, I should 
fancy, as a Border farmer lived in, in the days of the old 
moss-troopers, when his gold might be summoned or his 
cattle carried off at any minute of night or day. 

“ Open, Martin, old boy — it’s only 1, Tom Brown.” 

44 Oh, very well, stop a moment.” One bolt went back. 
“ You’re sure East isn’t there?” 

“ No, no, hang it! Open.” 

Tom gave a kick, the other bolt creaked, and he entered 
the den. 

Den indeed it was, about fire feet six inches long by five 
wide, and seven feet high. About six tattered school- 
books, and a few chemical books. Taxidermy, Stanley on 
Birds, and an odd volume of Bewick, the latter in much 
better preservation, occupied the top shelves. The other 
shelves, where they had not been cut away and used by "the 
owner for other purposes, were fitted up for the abiding- 
places of birds, beasts, and reptiles. There was no attempt 
at carpet or curtain. The table was entirely occupied by 
the great work of Martin, the electric machine, which was 
covered carefully with the remains of his table-cloth. The 
jackdaw cage occupied one wall, and the other was adorned 
by a small hatchet, a pair of climbing-irons, and his tin 
candle-box, in which he was for the time being endeavor- 
ing to raise a hopeful young family of field-mice. As noth- 
ing should be let to lie useless, it was well that the candle- 
box was thus occupied, for candles Martin never had. A 
pound was issued to him weekly, as to (he other boys, but 
as candles were available capital, and easily exchangeable 
for birds’ eggs or young birds, Martin’s pound invariably 
found its way in a few hours to Hewlett’s the bird-fancier’s 
in the Bilton Road, Who would give a hawk’s or nightingale’s 
egg or young linnet in exchange. Martin’s ingenuity was 
therefore forever on the rack to supply himself with a 
light; just now he had hit upon a grand invention, and 
the den was lighted by a flaring cotton-wick issued from a 
ginger-beer bottle full of some doleful composition. When 
light altogether failed him, Marlin would loaf about by 
the fires in the passages or hall after the mann r of Diggs, 
and try to do his verses or learn his lines by the fire' 
light. 


184 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“ Well, old boy, you haven’t got any sweeter in the den 
this half. How that stuff in the bottle stinks! !S T ever 
mind, I ain’t going to stop, but you come up after prayers 
to our study; you know young Arthur; we’ve got Gray’s 
study. We’ll have a good supper and talk about birds’- 
nesting.” 

Martin was evidently highly pleased at the invitation, 
and promised to be up without fail. 

As soon as prayers were over, and the sixth and fifth- 
form boys had withdrawn to the aristocratic seclusion of 
their own room, and the rest, or democracy, had sat down 
to their supper in the hall, Tom and Arthur, having 
secured their allowances of bread and cheese, started on 
their feet to catch the eye of the praepostor of the week, 
who remained in charge during supper, walking up and 
down the ball. He happened to be an easy-going fellow, 
so they got a pleasant nod to their “ Please may I go out?” 
and away they scrambled to prepare for Martin a sumptu- 
ous banquet. This Tom had insisted on, for he was in 
great delight on the occasion; the reason of which delight 
must be expounded. The fact was, this was the first ate 
tempt at a friendship of his own which Arthur had made, 
and Tom hailed it as a grand step. The ease with which 
he himself became hail fellow well met with anybody, and 
blundered into and out of twenty friendships a half year, 
made him sometimes sorry and sometimes angry at Arthur’s 
reserve and loneliness. True, Arthur was alwavs pleasant 
and even jolly, with any boys who came with Tom to their 
study; but Tom felt that it was only through him, as it 
were, that his chum associated with others, and that but 
for him Arthur would have been dwelling in a wilderness. 
This increased his consciousness of responsibility; and 
though he hadn’t reasoned it out and made it clear to him- 
self, yet somehow he knew that this responsibility, this 
trust which he had taken on him without thinking about 
it, head over heels in fact, was the center and turning- 
point of his school-life, that which was to make him or mar 
him; his appointed work and trial for t he time being. And 
Tom was becoming a new boy, though with frequent tum- 
bles in the dirt and perpetual hard battles with himself, 
and was daily growing in manfulness and thoughtfulness, 
as every high- couraged and well-principled boy must, when 
he finds himself for the first time consciously at grips with 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


185 


self and the devil. Already he could turn almost without 
a sigh from the school gates* from which had just scam- 
pered off East and three or four others of his own particu- 
lar set, bound for some jolly lark not quite according to 
law, and involving probably a row with louts, keepers, or 
farm-laborers, the skipping dinner or calling-over, some of 
Phoebe Jenning's beer, and a very possible flogging at the 
end of all as a relish. He had quite got over the stage in 
which he would grumble to himself, “ Well, hang it, it’s 
very hard of the doctor to have saddled me with Arthur! 
Why couldn't he have chummed him with Fogey, or 
Thomkin, or any of the fellows who never do anything 
but walk round the close, and finish their copies the first 
day they're set?" But although this was past, he often 
longed, and felt that he was right in longing for more time 
for the legitimate pastimes of cricket-fives, bathing, and 
fishing within bounds, in which Arthur could not yet be 
his companion; and he felt that when the young 'un, as he 
now generally called him, had found a pursuit and some 
other friend for himself, he should be able to give more 
time to the education of his own body with a clear con- 
science. 

And now what he so wished for had come to pass; he 
almost hailed it as a special providence (as indeed it was, 
but not for the reasons he gave it — what providences are?) 
that Arthur should have singled out Martin of all fellows 
for a friend. 

“ The old Madman is the very fellow," thought he; 
“ he will take him scrambling over half the country after 
birds' eggs and flowers, make him run and swim and 
climb- like an Indian, and not teach him a word of any- 
thing bad, or keep him from his lessons. What luck!" 

And so, with more than his usual heartiness, he dived 
into his cupboard, and hauled out an old knucklebone of 
ham, and two or three bottles of beer, together with the 
solemn pewter only used on state occasions; while Arthur, 
equally elated at the easy accomplishment of his first act 
of volition in the joint establishment, produced from his 
side a bottle of pickles and a pot of jam, and cleared the 
table. In a minute or two the noise of the boys coming 
up from supper was heard, and Martin knocked and was 
admitted, bearing his bread and cheese, and the three fell 
to with hearty good-will upon the viands, talking faster 


186 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


than they eat, for all shyness disappeared in a moment be^ 
fore Tom’s bottled beer and hospitable ways. 

“ Here’s Arthur, a regular young town mouse, with a 
natural taste for the woods, Martin, longing to break his 
neck climbing trees, and with a passion for young snakes.” 

“Well, I say,” sputtered out Martin, eagerly, “will 
you come to-morrow, both of you, to Caldecott’s Spinny, 
then, for 1 know of a kestrel’s nest, up a fir-tree — I can’t 
get at it without help; and. Brown, you can climb against 
any one. ” 

“ Oh, yes, do let us go,” said Arthur; “ I never saw a 
hawk’s nest nor a hawk’s egg.” 

“ You just come down to my study then, and I’ll show 
you five sorts,” said Martin. 

“ Ay, the old Madman has got the best collection in the 
house, out and out,” said Tom; and then Martin, warm- 
ing with unaccustomed good cheer and the chance of a 
convert, launched out into a proposed birds’-nesting cam- 
paign betraying all manner of important secrets; a golden- 
crested wren’s nest near Butlin’s Mound, a moor- hen that 
was sitting on nine eggs in a pond down the Barby Road, 
and a kingfisher’s nest in a corner of the old canal above 
Brownsover Mill. He had heard, he said, that no one had 
ever got a kingfisher’s nest out perfect, and that the British 
Museum, or the government, or somebody, had offered one 
hundred pounds to any one who could bring them a nest 
and eggs not damaged. In the middle of which astound- 
ing announcement, to which the others were listening with 
open ears, already considering the application of the hun- 
dred pounds, a knock came at the door, and East’s voice 
was heard craving admittance. 

“There’s Harry,” said Tom; “we’ll let him in — I’ll 
keep him steady, Martin. 1 thought the old boy would 
smell out the supper.” 

The fact was that Tom’s heart had already smitten him 
for not asking his “ fidus Achates ” to the feast, although 
only an extempore affair; and though prudence and the 
desire to get Martin and Arthur together alone at first had 
overcome his scruples, he was now heartily glad to open 
the door, broach another bottle of beer, and hand over the 
old ham-knuckle to the searching of his old friend’s pocket- 
knife. 

“Ah, you greedy vagabonds!” said East, with hig 


TOM BROWN ? S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


18 ? 


mouth full; “ I knew there was something going on when 
I saw you cut oft out of ball so quick with your suppers. 
What a stunning tap, Tom! vou are a wunner for bottling 
the swipes.” 

“ I’ve had practice enough for the sixth in my time, and 
it’s hard if I haven’t picked up a wrinkle or two for my 
own benefit.” 

“ Well, old Madman, how goes the birds’-nesting cam- 
paign? How’s Howlett? I expect the young rooks’ll be 
out in another fortnight, and then my turn comes.” 

“ There’ll be no young rooks fit for pies for a month 
yet; shows how much ycu know about it,” rejoined Mar- 
tin, who though very good friends with East, regarded him 
with considerable suspicion for his propensity to practical 
jokes. 

“ Scud knows nothing and cares for nothing but grub 
and mischief,” said Tom. “ But young rook-pie, specially 
when you’ve had to climb for them, is very pretty eating. 
However, 1 say, Scud, we’re all going after a hawk’s nest 
to-morrow, in Caldecott’s Spinny; and if you’ll come and 
behave’yourself, we’ll have a stunning climb.” 

“ And a bathe in Aganippe. Hooray! I’m your man!” 

“ Ho, no; no bathing in Aganippe; that’s where our 
betters go.” 

“ Well, well, never mind. I’m for the hawk’s nest and 
anything that turns up.” 

And the bottled beer being finished, and his hunger ap- 
peased, East departed to his study, “that sneak Jones,” 
as he informed them, who had just got into the sixth and 
occupied the next study, having instituted a nightly visita- 
tion upon East and his chum, to their no small discomfort. 

When he was gone, Martin rose to follow, but Tom 
stopped him. 

“ Ho one goes near Hew Row,” said he, “ so you may 
just as well stop here and do your verses, and then we’ll 
have some more talk. We’ll be no end quiet; besides, no 
praepostor comes here now — we haven t been visited once 
this half.” 

So the table was cleared, the cloth restored, and the three 
fell to work with Grad us and dictionary upon the morn- 
ing’s Vulgus. 

They were three very fair examples of the way in which 
such tasks were done at Rugby, in the consulship of Plan*’ 


188 TOM brown’s school-days. 

cus. And doubtless the method is little changed, for there 
is nothing new under the sun, especially at school. 

Now be it known unto all you boys who are at schools 
which do not rejoice in the time-honored institution of the 
Vulgus (commonly supposed to have been established by 
William of Wykeham at Winchester, and imported to Rug- 
by by Arnold, more for the sake of the lines which were 
learned by heart with it, than for its own intrinsic value, 
as I’ve always understood) that it is a short exercise, in 
Greek or Latin verse, on a given subject, the minimum 
number of lines being fixed for each form. The master of 
the form gave out at fourth lesson on the previous day the 
subject for next morning’s Vulgus, and at first lesson each 
boy had to bring his Vulgus ready to be looked over; and 
with the Vulgus, a certain number of lines from one of the 
Latin or Greek poets then being construed in the form had 
to be got by heart. The master at first lesson called up 
each boy in the form in order, and put him on in the lines. 
If he couldn’t say them, or seem to say them, by reading 
them off the master’s or some other boy’s book who stood 
near, he was sent back, and went below all the boys who 
did so say or seem to say them; but in either case his Vul- 
gus was looked over by the master, who gave and entered 
in his book, to the credit or discredit of the boy, so many 
marks as the composition merited. At Rugby Vulgus and 
lines were the first lesson every other day in the week, or 
Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays; and as there were 
thirty-eight weeks in the school year, it is obvious to the 
meanest capacity that the master of each form had to set 
one hundred and fourteen subjects every year, two hun- 
dred and twenty-eight every two years, and so on. Now 
to persons of moderate invention this was a considerable 
task, and human nature bein£ prone to repeat itself, it will 
not be wondered that the masters gave the same subjects 
sometimes over again after a certain lapse of time. To 
meet and rebuke this bad habit of the masters, the school- 
boy mind, with its accustomed ingenuity, had invented an 
elaborate system of tradition. Almost every boy kept his 
own Vulgus written out in a book, and these books were 
duly handed down from boy to boy, till (if the'tradition 
had gone on until now) 1 suppose the popular boys, in 
whose hands bequeathed Vulgus-books have accumulated, 
are prepared with three or four Vulguses op any subject iu 


* TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


189 


heaven or earth, or in “ more worlds than one," which an 
unfortunate master can pitch upon. At any rate, such 
lucky fellows had generally one for themselves and one for 
a friend in my time. The only objection to the tradition- 
* ary method of doing your Vulguses was, the risk that the 
successions might have become confused; and so, that you 
and another follower of traditions should show up the same 
identical Vulgus some fine morning; in which case, when 
it happened, considerable grief was the result — but when 
did such risk hinder boys or men from short cuts and 
pleasant paths? 

Now in the study that night, Tom was the upholder of 
the traditionary method of vulgus doing. He carefully 
produced two large Vulgus-books, and began diving into 
them, and picking out a line here, and an ending there 
(tags, as they were vulgarly called), till he had got all that 
he thought he could make fit. He then proceeded to patch 
his tags together with the help of his Gradus, producing an 
incongruous and feeble result of eight elegiac lines, the 
minimum quantity for his form, and finishing up with two 
highly moral lines extra, making ten in all, which he 
cribbed entire from one of his books, beginning “ 0, genus 
humanum” and which he himself must have used a dozen 
time before, whenever an unfortunate or wicked hero, of 
whatever nation or language under the sun, was the sub- 
ject. Indeed, he began to have great doubt whether the 
master wouldn't remember them, and so only threw them 
in as extra lines, because in any case they would call off 
attention from the other tags, and if detected, being extra 
lines, he wouldn’t be sent back to do two more in their 
place, while if they passed muster again he would get 
marks for them. 

The second method pursued by Martin may be called the 
dogged, or prosaic method. He, no more than Tom, took 
any pleasure in the task, but having no old Vulgus-books 
of his own or anyone's else, could not follow the tradition- 
ary method, for which too, as Tom remarked, he hadn't 
the genius. Martin then proceeded to write down eight 
lines in English, of the most matter-of-fact kind, the first 
that came into his head; and to convert these, line by line, 
by main force of Gradus and dictionary, into Latin that 
would scan. This was all he cared for, to produce eight 
lines with no false quantities or concords; whether 


190 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. # 

words were apt, or what the sense was, mattered nothing; 
and, as the article was all new, not a line beyond the 
minimum did the followers of the dogged method ever 
produce. 

The third, or artistic method, was Arthur’s. He con- 
sidered first what point in the cha"aeter or event which was 
the subject could most neatly be brought out within the 
limits of a Yulgus, trying always to get his idea into the 
eight lines, but not binding himself to ten or even twelve 
lines if he couldn’t do this. He then set to work, as much 
as possible without Gr>.dus or other help, to clothe his idea 
in appropriate Latin or Greek, and would not be satisfied 
till he had polished it well up with the aptest and most 
poetic words and phrases he could get at. 

A fourth method indeed was used in the school, but of 
too simple a kind to require a comment. It may be called 
the vicarious method, obtained among big boys of lazy or 
bullying habits, and consisted simply in making clever 
boys whom they could thrash do their whole Vulgus for 
them, and construe it to them afterward; which latter it a 
method not to be encouraged, and which I strongly advise 
you all not to practice. Of the others, you will find the 
traditionary most troublesome, unless you can steal your 
Yulguses whole ( experto crecle), and that the artistic 
method pays the best both in marks and other ways. 

The Vulguses being finished by nine o’clock, and Mar- 
tin having rejoiced above measure in the abundance of 
light, and of Gradus and dictionary, and other conveni- 
ences almost unknown to him for getting through the 
work, and having been pressed by Arthur to come and do 
his verses there whenever he liked, the three boys went 
down to Martin’s den, and Arthur was initiated into the 
lore of birds’ eggs, to his great delight. The exquisite 
coloring and forms astonished and charpaed him who had 
scarcely ever seen any but a hen’s egg or an ostrich’s, and 
by the time he was lugged away to bed he had learned the 
names of at least twenty sorts, and dreamed of the glorious 
perils of tree-climbing, and that he had found a roc’s-egg 
in the island as big as Sinbad’s and clouded like a tit- 
lark’s, in blowing which Martin and he h*d nearly been 
drowned in the yelk. 


. TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


191 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE BIRD-FANCIERS. 

I have found out a gift for my fair, 

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed 

But let me the plunder forbear, 

She would say ’twas a barbarous deed. 

Rowe. 

And now, my lad, take them five shilling, 

And on my advice in future think; 

So Billy pouched them all so willing, 

And got that night disguised in drink. 

MS. Ballad. 

The next morning at first lesson Tom was turned back 
in his lines, and so had to wait till the second round, while 
Martin and Arthur said theirs all right and got out of 
school at once. When Tom got out and ran down to 
breakfast at Harrowell’s, they were missing, and Stumps 
informed him that they had swallowed down their break- 
fasts and gone off together, where lie couldn’t say. Tom 
hurried over his own breakfast, and went first to Martin’s 
study and then to his own, but no signs of the missing 
boys were to be found. He felt half angry and jealous of 
Martin — where could they be gone? 

He learned second lesson with East and the rest in no 
very good temper, and then went out into the quadrangle. 
About ten minutes before school Martin and Arthur arrived 
in the quadrangle breathless; and, catching sight of him, 
Arthur rushed up all excitement and with a bright glow on 
his face. 

“ Oh, Tom, look here!” cried he, holding out three 
moor-hen’s eggs; “ we’ve been down the Barby Road to 
the pool Martin told us of last night, and just see what 
we’ve got.” 

Tom wouldn’t be pleased, and only looked out for some- 
thing to find fault with. 

“ Why, young ’an,” said he, “ what have you beeii 
after? You don’t mean to say you’ve been wading?” 

The tone of reproach made poor little Arthur shrink up 
in a moment and look piteous, and Tom with a shrug of 
his shoulders turned his anger on Martin. 

“Well, 1 didn’t think. Mailman, that you’d have been 


192 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


such a muff as to let him be getting wet through at this 
time of day. You might have done the wading yourself." 

“ So 1 did, of course, only he would come in too to see 
the nest. We left six eggs in; they'll be hatched in a day 
or two." 

“ Hang the eggs!" said Tom; “ a fellow can't turn his 
back for a moment but all his work's undone. He'll be 
laid up for a week for this precious lark, I'll be bound." 

“ Indeed, Tom, now," pleaded Arthur, “ my feet ain't 
wet, for Martin made me take off my shoes and stockings 
and trousers." 

“ But they are wet and dirty, too — can’t I see?" an- 
swered Tom; “ and you'll be called up and floored when 
the master sees what a state you're in. You haven't 
looked at second lesson, you know." 

Oh, Tom, you old humbug! yon to be upbraiding any 
one with not learning their lessons! If you hadn't been 
floored yourself now at first lesson, do you mean to say 
you wouldn't have been with them? and you've taken 
away all poor little Arthur's joy and pride in his first 
birds' eggs; and he goes and puts them down in the study, 
and takes down his books with a sigh, thinking he has 
done something horribly wrong, whereas he has learned on 
in advance much more than will be done at second lesson. 

But the old Madman hasn't, and gets called up and 
makes some frightful shots, losing about ten places, and 
all but getting floored. This somewhat appeases Tom's 
wrath, and by the end of the lesson he has regained his 
temper. And afterward in their study he begins to get 
right again, as he watches Arthur's intense joy at seeing 
Martin blowing the eggs and gluing them carefully on to 
bits of card-board, and notes the anxious, loving looks 
which the little fellow casts sidelong at him. And then 
he thinks, “ What an ill-tempered beast 1 am! Here's 
just what 1 was wishing for last night come about, and 
I'm spoiling it all," and in another five minutes has swal- 
lowed the last mouthful of his bile, and is repaid by seeing 
his little sensitive plant expand again, and sun itself in 
his smiles. 

After dinner the Madman is busy with the preparations 
for their expedition, fitting new straps on to his climbing- 
irons, filling large pill-boxes with cotton wool, and sharp- 
ening East's small ax. They carry all their munitions 


193 


TOT.r BHOTTITS SCIIOOIXDATS. 

into calling-over, and directly afterward, having dodged 
such praepostors as are on the lookout for fags at cricket, 
the four set off* at a smart trot down the Lawford footpath 
straight for Caldecott’s Spinny and the hawk’s nest. 

Martin leads the way in high feather; it is quite a new 
sensation to him getting companions, and he finds it 
very pleasant, and means to show them all manner of 
proofs of his science and skill. Brown and East may be 
better at cricket and football games, thinks he, but out in 
the fields and woods see if can’t teach them something. 
He has taken the leadership already, and strides away in 
front with his climbing-irons strapped under one arm, bis 
pecking-bag under the other, and his pockets and hat full 
of pill-boxes, cotton wool, and other etceteras. Each of 
the others carries a pecking-bag, and East his hatchet. 

When they had crossed three or four fields without, a 
check, Arthur began to lag, and Tom seeing this shouted 
to Martin to pull up a bit: 

“ We ain’t out hare-and-hounds — what’s th8 good of 
grinding on at this rate?” 

“ There’s the Spinny,” said Martin, pulling up on the 
brow of a slope at the bottom of which jay Lawford Brook, 
and pointing to the top of the opposite slope; “ the nest is 
in one of those high fir-trees at this end. And down by the 
brook there, 1 know of a sedge-bird's nest; we’ll go and 
look at it coming back.” 

“ Oh, come on, don’t let us stop,” said Arthur, who was 
getting excited at the sight of the wood; so they broke into 
a trot again, and were soon across the brook, up the slope, 
and into the Spinny. Here they advanced as noiselessly 
as possible, lest keepers or other enemies should be about, 
and stopped at the foot of a tall fir, at the top of whicti 
Martin pointed out with pride the kestrel’s nest, the object 
of their quest. 

“ Oh, where? which is it?” asks Arthur, gaping up in 
the air, and having the most vague idea of what it would 
be like. 

“ There, don’t you see?” said East, pointing to a lump 
cf mistletoe in the next tree, which was a beech; he saw 
that Martin and Tom were busy with the climbing-irons, 
and couldn’t resist the temptation of hoaxing Arthur 
stared and wondered more than ever. 


X94 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-BAYS. 


“ Well, how curious! it doesn’t look a bit like what I 
expected,” said he. 

“ Very odd birds, kestrels/ 7 said East, looking waggish- 
ly at his victim, who was still star-gazing. 

“ But I thought it was in a fir-tree?” objected Arthur. 

“ Ah, don’t you know? that’s a new sort of fir, which 
old Caldecott brought from the Himalayas.” 

“ Really!” said Arthur; “ I’m glad I know that— how 
unlike our firs they are! They do very well too here, don’t 
they? The Spinny’s full of them.” 

“ What’s that humbug he’s telling you?” cried Tom, 
looking up, having caught the world Himalayas, and sus- 
pecting what East was after. 

“ Only about this fir,” said Arthur, putting his hand on 
the stem of the beech. 

“ Fir!” shouted Tom, “ why, you don’t mean to say, 
young ’un, you don’t know a beech when you see one?” 

Poor little Arthur looked terribly ashamed, and East ex- 
ploded in laughter which made the wood ring. 

“ I’ve hardly ever seen any trees,” faltered Arthur. 

“ What a shame to hoax him, Scud!” cried Martin. 
“ Never mind, Arthur, you shall know more about trees 
than he does in a week or two.” 

“ And isn’t that the kestrel’s nest, then?” asked 
Arthur. 

“ That! why that’s a piece of mistletoe. There’s the 
nest, that lump of sticks up this fir.” 

“ Don’t believe him, Arthur,” struck in the incorrigible 
East; “ 1 just saw an old magpie go out of it.” 

Martin did not deign to reply to this sally, except by a 
grunt, as he buckled the last buckle of his climbing-irons; 
and Arthur looked reproachfully at East without speak- 
ing. 

But now came the tug of war. It was a very difficult 
tree to climb until the branches were reached, the first of 
which was some fourteen feet up, for the trunk was too 
large at the bottom to be swarmed; in fact, neither of the 
boys could reach more than half round it with their arms. 
Martin and Tom, both of whom had irons on, tried it with- 
out success at first; the fir-bark broke away where they 
stuck the irons in as soon as they leaned any weight on 
their feet, and the grip of their arms wasn’t enough to 
keep them up; so, after getting up three or four feet, down 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-BAYS. 


105 


they came slithering to the ground, barking their arms and 
faces. They were furious, and East sat by laughing and 
shouting at each failure: 

“ Two to one on the old magpie!” 

“ We must try a pyramid,” said Tom, at last. “ Now, 
Scud, you lazy rascal, stick yourself against the tree!”* 

“ I dare say! and have you standing on my shoulders 
with the irons on; what do you think my skin’s made of?” 

However, up he got, and leaned against the tree, putting 
his head down and clasping it with his arms as far as he 
could. 

“ Now, then, Madman,” said Tom, 4 4 you next.” 

“ No; I’m lighter than you; you go next.” 

So Tom got on East’s shoulders, and grasped the tree 
above, and then Martin scrambled up on Tom’s shoulders, 
amid the totterings and groanings of the pyramid, and, 
with a spring which sent hi3 supporters howling to the 
ground, clasped the stem some ten feet up, and remained 
clinging. For a moment or two they thought he couldn’t 
get up, but then, holding on with arms and teeth, he 
worked first one iron, then the other, firmly into the bark, 
got another grip with his arms, and in another minute had 
hold of the lowest branch. 

“ All’s up with the old magpie now,” said East; and, 
after a minute’s rest, up went Martin, hand over hand, 
watched bv Arthur with fearful eagerness. 

“ Isn’t it very dangerous?” said he. 

“Not a bit,” answered Tom; “you can’t hurt if you 
only get good hand-hold. Try every branch with a good 
pull before you trust it, and then up you go.” 

Martin was now among the small branches close to the 
nest, and away dashed the old bird, and soared up above 
the trees, watching the intruder. 

“ All right — four eggs!” shouted he. 

“Take ’em all!” shouted East; “that’ll be one 
apiece.” 

“ No, no; leave one, and then she won’t care,” said 
Tom. 

We boys had an idea that birds couldn’t count, and were 
quite content as long as you left one egg. 1 hope it is so. 

Martin carefully put one egg into each of his boxes and 
the third into his mouth, the only other place of safety, 
and came down like a lamp-lighter. All went well till he 


19o 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


was within ten feet of the ground, when, as the trunk en- 
larged, his hold got less and less firm, and at last down he 
came with a run, tumbling on to his back on the turf, 
spluttering and spitting out the remains of the great egg, 
which had broken by the jar of his fail. 

“ Ugh, ugh — something to drink — ugh! it was addled, ” 
spluttered he, while the wood rang again with the merry 
laughter of East and Tom. 

Then they examined the prizes, gathered up their things, 
and went oft to the brook, where Martin swallowed huge 
draughts of water to get rid of the taste; and they visited 
the sedge-bird’s nest, and from thence struck across the 
country in high glee, beating the hedges and brakes as they 
went along; and Arthur at last, to his intense delight, was 
allowed to climb a small hedge-row oak for a magpie’s nest 
with Tom, who kept all round him like a mother, and 
showed him where to hold' and how to throw his weight; 
and though he was in a great fright, didn’t show it; and 
was applauded by all for his lissomeness. 

They crossed a road soon afterward, and there close tea 
them lay a heap of charming pebbles. 

“ Look here,.” shouted East, “ here’s luck! Eve beeh 
longing for some good honest pecking this half hour. Let’* 
fill the bags, and have no more of this foozling birds’-nesb 
ing.” 

No one objected, so each boy filled the fustian bag ho 
carried full of stones, they crossed into the next field, Tom 
and East taking one side of the hedges, and the other two 
the other side. Noise enough they made certainly, but it 
was too early in the season for the young birds, and the 
old birds were too strong on, the wing for our young marks- 
men, and flew out of shot after the first discharge. But it 
was great fun, rushing along the hedge-rows, and dis- 
charging stone after stone at blackbirds and chaffinches, 
though no result in the shape of slaughtered birds was ob- 
tained; and Arthur soon entered into it, and rushed to 
head back the birds, and shouted, and threw, and tumbled 
into ditches and over and through hedges, as wild as the 
Madman himself. 

Presently the party, in full cry after an old blackbird, 
(who was evidently used to the thing and enjoyed the fun, 
for he would wait till they came close to him and then fly 
on forty yards or so, and, with an impudent flicker of his 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


19 / 


tail, dart into the depths of the quick-set), came beating 
down a high double hedge, two on each side. 

“ There he is again!” “Head him!” “Let drive!” 
“ I had him there!” “ Take care where you’re throwing, 
Madman!” the shouts might have been heard a quarter of 
a mile off. They were heard some two hundred yards off 
by a farmer and two of his shepherds, who were doctoring 
sheep in a fold in the next field. 

Now, the farmer in question rented a house and yard 
situate at the end of the field in which the young bird- 
fanciers had arrived, which house and yard he did n’t occupy 
or keep any one else in. Nevertheless, like a brainless and 
unreasoning Briton, he persisted in maintaining on the 
premises a large stock of cocks, hens, and other poultry. 
Of course, all sorts of depredators visited the place from 
time to time; foxes and gypsies wrought havoc in the night; 
while in the day-time, I regret to have to confess that 
visits from the Rugby boys, and consequent disappearances 
of ancient and respectable fowls, were not unfrequent. 
Tom and East had during the period of their outlawry 
visited the barn in question for felonious purposes, and on 
one occasion had conquered and slain a duck there, and 
borne away the carcass triumphantly, hidden in their hand- 
kerchiefs. However, they were sickened of the practice by 
the trouble and anxiety which the wretched duck’s body 
caused them. They carried it to Sally Harrowell’s in 
hopes of a good supper; but she, after examining it, made 
a long face, and refused to dress or have anything to do 
with it. Then they took it into their study, and began 
plucking it themselves; but what to do with the feathers — 
where to hide them? 

“ Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duck 
has!” groaned East, holding a bagful in his hand, and 
looking disconsolately at the carcass, not yet half plucked. 

“ And I do think he’s getting high too, already,” said 
Tom, smelling at him cautiously, “so we must finish him 
up soon.” 

“ Yes, all very well; but how are we to cook him? I’m 
sure I ain’t going to try it on in the hall or passages; we 
can’t afford to be roasting ducks about, our character 5 /* 
too bad.” 

“ I wish we were rid of the brute,” said Tom, throw- 
ing him on the table in disgust. And after a day or fcw<? 


198 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


more it became clear that got rid of he must be; so they 
packed him and sealed him up in brown paper, and nut 
him in the cupboard of an unoccupied study, where lie was 
found in the holidays by the matron, a grewsome body. 

They had never been duck-hunting there since, but 
others had, and the bold yeoman was very sore on the sub- 
ject, and bent on making an example of the first boys he 
could catch. So he and his shepherds crouched behind the 
hurdles, and watched the party, who were approaching all 
unconscious. 

Why should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in the 
hedge just at this particular moment of all the year? Who 
can say? Guinea-fowls always are — so are all other things, 
animals, and persons, requisite for getting one into scrapes, 
always ready when any mischief can come of them. At 
any rate, just under East’s nose popped out the old guinea- 
hen, scuttling along and shrieking, “ Come back, come 
back!” at the top of her voice. Either of the other three 
might perhaps have withstood the temptation, but East 
first lets drive the stone he has in his hand at her, and then 
rushes to turn her into the hedge again. He succeeds, 
and then they are all at it for dear life, up and down the 
hedge in full cry, the “ Come back, come back!” getting 
shriller and fainter every minute. 

Meantime, the farmer and his men steal over the hurdles 
and creep down the hedge toward the scene of action. 

'They are almost within a stone’s-throw of Martin, who is 
pressing the unlucky chase hard, when Tom catches sight 
of them, and sings out, “ Louts, ’ware louts, your side! 
Madman, look ahead!” 'and then catching hold of Arthur, 
hurries him away across the field toward Rugby as hard as 
they can tear. Had he been by himself, he would have 
stayed to see it out with the others, but now his heart 
sinks and all his pluck goes. The idea of being led up to 
the doctor with Arthur for bagging fowls, quite unmans 
and takes half the run out of him. 

However, no boys are more able to take care of them- 
selves than East and Martin; they dodge the pursuers, slip 
through a gap, and come pelting after Tom and Arthur, 
whom (hey catch up in no time; the farmer and his men 
are making good running about a field behind. Tom 
wishes to himself that they had made off in any other 


tom brown’s school-days. 199 

direction, but now they are all in for it together, ami must 
see it out. 

“ You won’t leave the young ’un, will you?” says he, 
as they haul poor little Arthur, already losing wind from 
the fright, through the next hedge. 

“Not we,” is the answer from both. 

The next hedge is a stiff one; the pursuers gain horribly 
on them, and they only just pull Arthur through, with 
two great rents in his trousers, as the foremost shepherd 
comes up on the other side. As they start into the next 
field, they are aware of two figures walking down the foot- 
path m the middle of it, and recognize Holmes and Diggs 
taking a constitutional. Those good-natured fellows im- 
mediately shout “ On!” 

“ Let’s go to (hem and surrender,” pants Tom. 

Agreed. And in another minute the four boys, to the 
great astonishment of those worthies, rush breathless up to 
Holmes and Diggs, who pull up to see what is the matter; 
and then the whole is explained by the appearance of the 
farmer and his men, who unite their forces and bear down 
on the knot of boys. 

There is no time to explain, and Tom’s heart beats 
frightfully quick, as he ponders: 

“ Will they stand by us?” 

The farmer makes a rush at East and collars him; and 
that young gentleman, with unusual discretion, instead of 
kicking his shins, looks appealingly at Holmes and stands 
still. 

“ Halloo, there! not so fast,” says Holmes, who is bound 
to stand up for them till they are proved in the wrong. 
“ Now what’s all this about?” 

“ I’ve got the young varmint at last, have I?” pants the 
farmer; “ why, they’ve been a-skulking about my yard 
and stealing my fowls, that’s where ’ tis; and if I doan’t 
have them flogged for it, every one on ’em, my name ain’t 
Thom pson. ” 

Holmes looks grave, and Diggs’s face falls. They are 
quite ready to fight, no bovs in the school more so; but 
they are praepostors, and understand their office, and can’t 
uphold unrighteous causes. 

“ I haven’t been near his old barn this half!” cries 
East. “ Nor I,” “ Nor I,” chime in Tom and Martin. 

“ Now, Willum, didn’t you gee ’m there last week?” 


200 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“ Ees, 1 seen ’em, sure enough,” says Willum, grasping 
a prong he carried, and preparing for action. 

The boys deny stoutly, and. Willum is driven to admit 
that, “if it worn’t they, ’twas chaps as like ’em as two 
peas’n;” and “ leastways he’ll swear he see’d them two in 
the yard last Martinmas,” indicating East and Tom. 

Holmes had time to meditate. 

“ Now, sir,” says he to Willum, “ you see you can’t re- 
member what you have seen, and I believe the boys.” 

“ I doan’t care,” blusters the farmer; “ they was arter 
my fowls to-day, that’s enough for 1. "Willum, you catch 
hold o’ t’other chap. They’ve been a-sneaking about this 
ty two hours, 1 tells ’ee,” shouted he, as Holmes stands 
between Martin and Willum, “ and hav druv a matter of 
a dozen young pullets pretty nigh to death.” 

“ Oh, there’s a whacker!” cried East; “ we haven’t 
been within a hundred yards of his barn; we haven't been 
up here above ten minutes, and we’ve seen nothing but a 
tough old guinea-hen, who ran like a greyhound.” 

“ Indeed, that’s all true. Holmes, upon my honor,” 
added Tom; “ we weren’t after his fowls; the guinea-hen 
ran out of the hedge under our feet, and we’ve seen noth- 
ing else.” 

“ Drat their talk. Thee catch hold o’ t’other, Willum, 
and come along wi’ ’un.” 

“ Farmer Thompson,” said Holmes, warning off Willum 
and the prong with his stick, while Diggs faced the other 
shepherd, cracking his fingers like pistol-shots, “ now listen 
to reason — the boys haven’t been after your fowls, that’s 
plain.” 

“ Tells ’ee I see’d ’em. Who be you, I should like to 
know?” 

“ Never you mind, farmer,” answered Holmes. “ And 
now I’ll just tell you what it is — you ought to be ashamed 
of yourself for leaving all that poultry about, with no one 
to watch it, so near the school. Tou deserve to have it all 
stolen. So if you choose to cpme up to the doctor with 
them, I shall go with you, and tell him what I think 
of it.” 

The farmer began to take Holmes for a master; besides 
he wanted to get back to his flock. Corporal punishment 
was out of the question, the odds were too great; so he be- 
gan to hint at paying for the damage, Arthur jumped 


TOM brown's school-days. 201 

this, offering to pay anything, and the farmer immediately 
valued the guinea-hen at half a sovereign. 

“ Half a sovereign!" cried East, now released from the 
farmer's grip; “ well, that is a good one! the hen ain't 
hurt a bit, and she’s seven years old, 1 know, and as tough 
as whip-cord; she couldn't lay another egg to save her 
life." 

It was at last settled that they should pay the farmer 
two shillings, and his man one shilling, and so the matter 
ended, to the unspeakable relief of Tom, who hadn't been 
able to say a word, being sick at heart at the idea of what 
the doctor would think of him; and now the whole party 
of boys marched off down the footpath toward Rugby. 
Holmes, who was one of the best boys in the school, began 
to improve the occasion. 

“ Now, you youngsters," said he, as he marched along 
in the middle of them, “ mind this; you're very well out 
of this scrape. Don’t you go near Thompson's barn again, 
do you hear?" 

Profuse promises from all, especially East. 

“ Mind, I don't ask questions,” went on Mentor, “ but 
1 rather think some of you have been there before this after 
his chickens. Now, knocking over other people’s chickens, 
and running off with them, is stealing. It’s a nasty word, 
but that's the plain English of it. If the chickens were 
dead and lying in a shop, you wouldn't take them, I know 
that, any more than you would apples out of Griffith's 
basket; but there's no real difference between chickens 
running about and apples on a tree, and the same articles 
in a shop. 1 wish our morals were sounder in such mat- 
ters. There’s nothing so mischievous as these school dis- 
tinctions, which jumble up right and wrong, and justify 
things in us for which poor boys would be sent to prison." 

And good old Holmes delivered his soul on the walk 
home of many wise sayings, and as the song says — 

“ Gee’d ’em a sight of good advice;” 

which same sermon sunk into them all, more or less, and 
very penitent they were for several hours. But truth com- 
pels me to admit that East at any rate forgot it all in a 
week, but remembered the insult which had been put upon 
him by Farmer Thompson, and with the Tadpole and other 
hare-brained youngjs^s, oommitteij. g, raid on the barn 


202 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


soon afterward, in which they were caught by the shepherds 
and severely handled, besides having to pay eight shillings, 
all the money (hey had in the world, to escape being taken 
up to the doctor. 

Martin became a constant inmate in the joint study from 
this time, and Arthur took to him so kindly that Tom 
couldn’t resist slight fits of jealousy, which, however, he 
managed to keep to himself. The kestrel’s eggs had not 
been broken, strange to say, and formed the nucleus of 
Arthur’s collection, at which Martin worked heart and 
soul; and introduced Arthur to Howlett the bird-fancier, 
and instructed him in the rudiments of the art of stuffing. 
In token of his gratitude, Arthur allowed Martin to tattoo 
a small anchor on one of his wrists, which decoration, 
however, he carefully concealed from Tom. Before the 
end of the half year he had trained into a bold climber and 
good runner, and as Martin had foretold, knew twice as 
much about trees, birds, flowers, and many other things as 
our good-hearted and facetious young friend Harry East. 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE FIGHT. 

Surgebat Macnevisius 
Et mox jactabat ultro, 

Pugnabo tua gratia 
Feroci hoc Mactwolro. 

Etonian. 

There is a certain sort of fellow — we who are used to 
studying boys all know him well enough — of whom you 
can predicate with almost positive certainty, after he has 
been a month at school, that he is sure to have a fight, and 
with almost equal certainty that he will have but one. 
Tom Brown was one of these; ‘and as it is our well-weighed 
intention to give a full, true, and correct account of Tom’s 
only single combat with a school-fellow in the manner of 
our old friend “ Beil’s Life,” let those young persons whose 
stomachs are not strong, or who think a good set-to with 
the weapons which God has given us all, an uncivilized, 
unchristian, or ungentlemanly affair, just skip this chapter 
at once, for it won’t be to their taste. 

It was not at all usual in those days for two school- 
house boys to have a fight. Of course there were except 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


203 


tions, when some cross-grained, hard-headed fellow came 
up who would never be happy unless he was quarreling 
with his nearest neighbors, or when there was some class- 
dispute, between the fifth form and the fags, for instance, 
which required blood-letting; and a champion was picked 
out on each side tacitly, who settled the matter by a good 
hearty mill. But for the most part the constant use of 
those surest keepers of the peace, the boxing-gloves, kept 
the school-house boys from fighting one another. Two or 
three nights in every week the gloves were brought out, 
either in the hall or fifth-form room; and every boy who 
was ever likely to fight at all knew all his neighbors’ 
prowess perfectly well, and could tell to a nicety what 
chance he would have in a stand-up fight with any other 
boy in the house. But of course no such experience could 
be got as regarded boys in other houses; and as most of 
the other houses were more or less jealous of the school- 
house, collisions were frequent. 

After all, what would life be without fighting, I should 
like to know? From the cradle to the grave, fighting, 
rightly understood, is the business, the real, highest, hon- 
estest business of every son of man. Every one who is 
worth his salt has his enemies, who must be beaten, be 
they evil thoughts and habits in himself, or spiritual wick- 
edness in high places, or Russians, or border ruffians, or 
Bill, Tom, or Harry, who will not let him live his life in 
quiet till he has thrashed them. 

It is no good for Quakers, or any other body of men, to 
uplift their voices against fighting. Human nature is too 
strong for them, and they don’t follow their own precepts. 
Every soul of them is doing his own piece of fighting, 
somehow and somewhere. The world might be a better 
woild without fighting, for anything 1 know, but it 
wouldn’t be our world; and therefore I’m dead against 
crying peace when there is no peace, and isn’t meant to 
be. I am as sorry as any man to see folk fighting the 
wrong people and the wrong things, but I’d a deal sooner 
see them doing that than that tHey should have no fight in 
them. So having recorded, and being about to record, 
my hero’s fights of all sorts, with all sorts of enemies, I 
shall now proceed to give an account of his passage-at-arms 
with the only one of his school-fellows whom he ever had 
to encounter in- this manner* 


204 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


It was drawing toward the close of Arthur's first half 
year, and the May evenings were lengthening out. Lock- 
ing-up was not till eight o’clock, and everybody was begin- 
ning to talk about vvliat he would do in the holidays. The 
shell, in which form all our dramatis personce now are, 
were reading among other things the last book of Homer’s 
“ Iliad,” and had worked through it as far as the speeches 
of the women over Hector’s body. It is a whole school- 
day, and four or five of the school-house boys, among whom 
are Arthur, Tom, and East, are preparing third lesson to- 
gether. They have finished the regulation forty lines, and 
are for the most part getting very tired, notwithstanding 
the exquisite pathos of Helen’s lamentation. And now 
several long four-syllabled words come together, and the 
boy with the dictionary strikes work. 

“ I’m not going to look out any more words,” says he; 
“ we’ve done the quantity. Ten to one we sha’n’t get so 
far. Let’s go out into the close.” 

“ Come along, boys,” cried East, always ready to leave 
the grind, as he called it; “ our old coach is laid up, you 
know, and we shall have one of the new masters, who’s 
sure to go slow and let us down easy.” 

So an adjournment to the close was carried, nem. con. s 
little Arthur not daring to uplift his voice; but, being 
deeply interested in what they were reading, stayed quietly 
behind, and learned on for his own pleasure. 

As East had said, the regular master of the form was 
unwell, and they were to be heard by one of the new mas- 
ters, quite a young man, who had only just left the uni- 
versity. Certainly it would be hard lines, if, by dawdling 
as much as possible in coming in and taking their places, 
entering into long-winded explanations of what was the 
usual course of the regular master of the form, and others 
of the stock contrivances of boys for wasting time in school, 
they could not spin out the lesson so that he should not 
work them through more than the forty lines; as to which 
quantity there w r as a perpetual fight going on between the 
master and his form, the latter insisting, and enforcing by 
passive resistance, that it was the prescribed quantity of 
Homer for a shell lesson, the former that there was no 
fixed quautity, but that they must always be ready to go 
on to fifty or sixty lines if there were time within the hour. 
However, notwithstanding all their efforts, the new master 


TOM BROWH’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 


205 


got on horribly quick; he seemed to have the bad taste to 
be really interested in the lesson, and to be trying to work 
them up into something like appreciation of it, giving them 
good spirited English words, instead of the wretched bald 
stuff into which they rendered poor old Homer; and con- 
struing over each piece himself to them, after each boy, to 
show them how it should be done. 

Now the clock strikes the three quarters; there is only a 
quarter of an hour more; but the forty lines are all but 
done. So the boys, one after another, who are called up, 
stick more and more, and make balder and ever more bald 
work of it. The poor young master is pretty near beat by 
this time, and feels ready to knock his head against the 
wall, or his fingers against somebody else’s head. So he 
gives up altogether the lower and middle parts of the form, 
and looks round in despair at the boys on the top bench, 
to see if there is one out of whom he can strike a spark or 
two, and who will be too chivalrous to murder the most 
beautiful utterances of the most beautiful woman of the 
old world. His eye rests on Arthur, and he calls him up 
to finish construing Helen’s speech. Whereupon all the 
other boys draw long breaths, and begin to stare about and 
take it easy. They are all safe; Arthur is the head of the 
form, and sure to be able to construe, and that will tide on 
safely till the hour strikes. 

Arthur proceeds to read out the passage in Greek before 
construing it, as the custom is. Tom, who isn’t paying 
much attention, is suddenly caught by the falter in his 
voice as he reads the two lines — 

aXXd, ov rbv y* eneeooi 7rapaiipdfj.evog KarepvKEc, 

F rj r’ dyavotypoovvy teal colq uyavolq iirieGGiv 

He looks up at Arthur. 

“ Why, bless us!” thinks he, “ what can be the matter 
with the young ’un? He’s never going to get floored. 
He’s sure to have learned to the end.” 

Next moment he is reassured by the spirited tone in 
which Arthur begins construing, and betakes himself to 
drawing dogs’-heads in his note-book, while the master, 
evidently enjoying the change, turns his back on the mid- 
dle bench and stands before Arthur, beating a sort of time 
with his hand and foot, and say, “ Yes, yes,” “ Very 
well,” as Arthur goes on. 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL- T)AlfS. 


*06 

But as he nears the fatal two lines, Tom catches that 
falter and again looks up. He sees that there is some- 
thing the matter — Arthur can hardly get on at all. What 
can it be? 

Suddenly at this point Arthur breaks down altogether, 
and fairly bursts out crying, and dashes the cuff of his 
jacket across his eyes, blushing up to the roots of his hair, 
and feeling as if he should like to go down suddenly 
through the floor. The whole form are taken aback; most 
of them stare stupidly at him, while those who are gifted 
with presence of mind find their places and look steadily 
at their books, in hopes of not catching the master's eye 
and getting called up in Arthur's place. 

The master looks puzzled for a moment, and then see- 
ing, as the fact is, that the boy is really affected to tears by 
the most touching thing in Homer, perhaps in all profane 
poetry put together, steps up to him and lays his hand 
kindly on his shoulder, saying: 

“ Never mind, my little man, you've construed very well. 
Stop a minute, there’s no hurry." 

Now, as luck would have it, there sat next above Tom 
that dav, in the middle bench of the form, a big boy, by 
name Williams, generally supposed to be the cock of the 
shell, therefore of all the school below the fifths. The 
small boys, who are great speculators on the prowess of 
their elders, used to hold forth to one another about Will- 
iam's great strength, and to discuss whether East or Brown 
would take a licking from him. lie was called Slogger 
Williams, from the force with which it was supposed he 
could hit. In the main, he was a rough good-natured fel- 
low enough, but very much alive to his own dignity. He 
reckoned himself the king of the form, and kept up his 
position with a strong hand, especially in the matter of 
forcing boys not to construe more than the legitimate forty 
lines. He had already grunted and grumbled to himself, 
when Arthur went on reading beyond the forty lines. But 
now that he had broken down just in the middle of all the 
long words, the Slogger’s wrath was fairly roused. 

“ Sneaking little brute," muttered he, regardlessof pru- 
dence, “clapping on the water-works just in the hardest 
place; see if 1 don't punch his head after fourth lesson." 

“ Whose?" said Tom. to whom ^e remark seemed to 
be addressed. 


TOM brown’s school-days. 207 

“ Why, that little sneak Arthur’s, ” replied Williams. 

“ No, you sha’n’t,” said Tom. 

“ Halloo!” exclaimed Williams, looking at Tom with 
great surprise for a moment, and then giving him a sud- 
den dig in the ribs with his elbow, which sent Tom’s books 
flying on the door, and called the attention of the master, 
who turned suddenly round, and seeing the state of things, 
said: 

“ Williams, go down three places, and then go on.” 

The Slogger found his legs very slowly, and proceeded to 
go below Tom and two other boys with great disgust, and 
then, turning round and facing the master, said: 

“ 1 haven’t learned any more, sir; our lesson is only 
forty lines.” 

“ Is that so?” said the master, appealing generally to 
the top bench. 

.No answer. 

“ Who is the head-boy of the form?” said he, waxing 
wroth. 

“ Arthur, sir,” answered three or four boys, indicating 
our friend. 

“ Oh, your name’s Arthur. Well, now, what is the 
length of your regular lesson?” 

Arthur hesitated a moment and then said: 

“ We call it only forty lines, sir.” 

“ How do you mean, you call it?” 

“ Well, sir, Mr. Graham says we ain’t to stop there, 
when there’s time to construe more.” 

“ I understand,” said the master. “ Williams, go 
down three more places, and write me out the lesson in 
Greek and English. And now, Arthur, finish construing.” 

<-i Oh! would I be in Arthur’s shoes after fourth les- 
son?” said the little bovs to one another; but Arthur fin- 
ished Helen’s speech without any further catastrophe, and 
the clock struck four, which ended third lesson. 

Another hour was occupied in preparing and saying 
fourth lesson, during which Williams was bottling up his 
wrath; and when five struck, and the lessons for the day 
were over, he prepared to take summary vengeance on the 
innocent cause of his misfortune. 

Tom was detained in school a few minutes after the r^t, 
and on coming out into the quadrangle, the first thins 


208 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-BAYS. 


saw was a small ring of boys, applauding Williams, who 
was holding Arthur by the collar. 

“There, you young sneak, ” said he, giving Arthur a 
cuff on the head with his other hand, “ what made you say 
that — ” 

“ Halloo!” said Tom, shouldering into the crowd. 
“ You drop that, Williams; you sha’n’t touch him.” 

“ Who'll stop me?” said "the Slogger, raising his hand 
again. 

“ I,” said Tom; and suiting the action to the word, 
struck the arm which held Arthur’s arm so sharply that 
the Slogger dropped it with a start, and turned the full 
current of his wrath on Tom. 

“ Will you fight?” 

“ Yes, of course.” 

“ Huzza! there’s going to be a fight between Slogger 
Williams and Tom Brown.” 

The news ran like wild-fire about, and many boys who 
were on their way to tea at their several houses turned 
back, and sought the back of the chapel, where the fights 
come off. 

“Just run and tell East to come and back me,” said 
Tom to a small school-house boy, who was off like a rocket 
to Harrowell’s, just stopping for a moment to poke his 
head into the school-house hall, where the lower boys were 
already at tea, and sing out: 

“ Fight! Tom Brown and Slogger Williams.” 

Up start half the boys at, once, leaving bread, eggs, but- 
ter, sprats, and all the rest to take care of themselves. 
The greater part of the remainder follow in a minute, after 
swallowing their tea, carrying their food in their hands to 
consume as they go. Three or four only remain, who steal 
the butter of the more impetuous, and make to themselves 
an unctuous feast. 

In another minute East and Martin tear through the 
quadrangle carrying a sponge, and arrive at the scene of 
action just as the combatants are beginning to strip. 

Tom felt he had got his work cut out for him, as he 
stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, and braces. East tied 
his handkerchief round his waist, and rolled up his shirt- 
sleeves for him. 

“ iNow, old boy, don’t you open your mouth to say a 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


209 


word, or try to help yourself a bit, we’ll do all that; you 
keep all your breath and strength for the Slogger.” 

Martin meanwhile folded the clothes, and put them un- 
der the chapel-rails; and now Tom, with East to handle 
him and Martin to give him a knee, steps out on the turf, 
and is ready for all that may come; and here is the Slogger 
too, all stripped, and thirsting fo: the fray. 

It doesn’t look a fair match at first glance; Williams is 
nearly two inches taller, and probably a long year older 
than his opponent, and he is very strongly made about the 
arms and shoulders; “ peels well,” as the little knot of 
big fifth-form boys, the amateurs, say; who stand outside 
the ring of little boys, looking complacently on, but taking 
no active part in the proceedings. But down below he is 
not so good by any means; no spring from the loins, aud 
feeblish, not to say shipwrecky, about the knees. Tom, 
on the contrary, though not half so strong in the arms, is 
good all over, straight, hard, and springy from neck to 
ankle, better perhaps in his legs than anywhere. Besides, 
you can see by the clear white of his eye and fresh bright 
iook of his skin, that he is in tip-top training, able to do 
all he knows, while the Slogger looks rather sodden, as if 
he didn’t take much exercise and eat too much tuck. The 
time-keeper is chosen, a large ring made, and the two 
stand up opposite each other for a moment, giving us time 
just to make our little observations. 

“ If Tom’ll only condescend to fight with his head and 
heels,” as East mutters to Martin, “ we shall do.” 

But seemingly he won’t, for there he goes in, making 
play with both hands. Hard all, is the word; the two 
stand to each other like men; rally follows rally in quick 
succession, each fighting as if he thought to finish the 
whole thing out of hand. 

“ Can’t last at this rate,” say the knowing ones, while 
the partisans of each make the air ring with their shouts 
and counter-shouts of encouragement, approval, and de- 
fiance. 

“ Take it easy, take it easy— keep away, let him come 
after you,” implores East, as he wipes Tom’s face after 
the first round, with wet sponge, while he sits back on 
Martin’s knee, supported by the Madman’s long arms, 
which tremble a little from excitement. 

“ Time’s upl” calls the time-keeper. 


210 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DA’VS. 


“ There he goes again, hang it all!” growls East, as hii 
man is at it again as hard as ever. 

A very severe round follows, in which Tom gets out- 
and-out the worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, 
and deposited on the grass by a right- hander from the 
Slogger. 

Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger’s house, and 
the school-house are silent and vicious, ready to pick quar- 
rels anywhere. 

“Two to one in half crowns on the big ’un,” says Rat- 
tle, one of the amateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder-and- 
lightning waistcoat, and puffy, good-natured face. 

“ Done!” says Groove, another amateur of quieter look, 
taking out his note-book to enter it — for our friend Rattle 
sometimes forgets these little things. 

Meantime East is freshening up Tom with the sponges 
for next round, and has set two other boys to rub his 
hands. 

“ Tom, old boy,” whispers he, “ this may be fun for 
you, but it’s death to me. He’ll hit all the fight out of 
you in another five minutes, and then 1 shall go and drown 
myself in the island ditch. Feint him — use your legs! — 
draw him about! he’ll lose his wind then in no time, and 
you can go into him. Hit at his body, too; we’ll take care 
of his frontispiece by and by.” 

Tom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw alieady 
that he couldn’t go in and finish the Slogger off at mere 
hammer and tongs, so changed his tactics completely in 
the third round. He now fights cautious, getting away 
from and parrying the Slogger’s lunging hits, instead of 
trying to counter, and leading his enemy a dance all round 
the ring after him. 

“ He’s funking; go in, Williams.” “ Catch him up.” 
“Finish him off!” scream the small boys of the Slogger 
party. 

“Just what we want,” thinks East, chuckling to him- 
self, as he sees Williams, excited by these shouts, and 
thinking the game in his own hands, blowing himself in 
his exertions to get to close quarters again, while Tom is 
keeping away with perfect ease. 

They quarter over the ground again and again, Tom 
always on the defensive. 

The Slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly blown. 


TOM brown’s school-days. 211 

“Now, then, Tom,” sings out East, dancing with de- 
light. 

- Tom goes in in a twinkling, and hits two heavy body- 
blows, and gets away again before the Slogger can catch 
his wind; which when he does he rushes with blind fury at 
Tom, and being skillfully parried and avoided, overreaches 
himself and falls on his face, amid terrific cheers from the 
school-house boys. 

“ Double your two to one?” says Groove to Rattle, note- 
book in hand. 

“ Stop a bit,” says that hero, looking uncomfortably at 
Williams, who is puffing away on his second’s knee, winded 
enough, but little the worse in any other way. 

After another round the Slogger too seems to see that he 
can’t go in and win right off, and has met his match or 
thereabouts. So he too begins to use his head and tries 
to make Tom lose patience and come in before his time. 
And so the fight sways on, now one, and now the other, 
getting a trifling pull. 

Tom’s face begins to look very one-sided— there are lit- 
tle queer bumps on his forehead, and his mouth is bleed- 
ing; but East keeps the wet sponge going so scientifically 
that he comes up looking as fresh and bright as ever. 
Williams is only slightly marked in the face, but by the 
nervous movement of his elbows you can see that. Tom’s 
body-blows are telling. In fact, half the force of the Slog- 
ger’s hitting is neutralized, for he daren’t lunge out freely 
for fear of exposing his sides. It is too interesting by this 
time for much shouting, and the whole ring is very quiet. 

“ All right. Tommy,” whispers East; “ hold on’s the 
horse that’s to win. We’ve got the last. Keep your head, 
old boy.” 

But where is Arthur all thi3 time? Words can not paint 
the poor little fellow’s distress. He couldn’t muster cour- 
age to come up to the ring, but wandered up and down 
from the great fives’-court to the corner of the chapel-rails. 
Now trying to make up his mind to throw himself between 
them and try to stop them; then thinking of running in 
and telling his friend Mary, who he knew would instantly 
report to the doctor. The stories he had heard of men be- 
ing killed in prize-fights rose up horribly before him. 

Once only, when the shouts of “ Well done. Brown!” 
“ Huzza for the school-house!” rose higher than ever, he 


2 12 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


ventured up to the ring, thinking the victory was wotJ. 
Catching sight of Tom’s face in the state I have described, 
all fear of consequences vanishing out of his mind, he 
rushed straight off to the matron’s room, beseeching her 
to get the tight stopped, or he should die. 

But it’s time for us to get back to the close. What is 
this fierce tumult and confusion? The ring is broken, and 
high and angry words are being bandied about. “ It’s all 
fair.” “It isn’t.” “No hugging.” The fight is 
stopped. The combatants, however, sit there quietly, 
tended by their seconds, while their adherents wrangle in 
the middle. East can’t help shouting challenges to two 
or three of the other side, though he never leaves Tom for 
a moment, and plies the sponges as fast as ever. 

The fact is, that at the *»nd of the last round, Tom see- 
ing a good opening, had closed with his opponent, and after 
a moment’s struggle had thrown him heavily, by the help 
of the fall he had learned from his village rival in the Vale 
of White Horse. Williams hadn’t the ghost of a chance 
with Tom at wrestling; and the conviction broke at once 
on the Slogger faction, that if this were allowed their man 
must be licked. There was a strong feeling in the school 
against catching hold and throwing, though it was gener- 
ally ruled all fair within certain limits; so the ring was 
broken and the fight stopped. 

The school-house are overruled — the fight is on again, 
but there is to be no throwing; and East in high wrath 
threatens to take his man away after next round (which he 
don’t mean to do, by the way), when suddenly young 
Brooke comes through the .small gate at the end of the 
chapel. The school-house faction rush to him. 

“ Ob, hurrah! now we shall get fair play.” 

“ Please, Brooke, come up; they won’t let Tom Brown 
throw him.” 

“ Throw whom?” says Brooke, coming up to the ring. 
“Oh! Williams, I see. Nonsense! Of course he may 
throw him if he catches him fairly above the waist.” 

Now, young Brooke, you’re«in the sixth, you know, and 
you ought to stop all fights. He looks hard at both boys, 

“ Anything wrong?” says he to East, nodding at Toim 

“Not a bit.” 

“ Not beat at all?” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


213 


“ Biess you, no! heaps of fight in him. Ain’t there, 
Tom?” 

Tom looks at Brooke and grins. 

“ How’s he?” nodding at Williams. 

“ So, so; rather done, 1 think, since his last fall. He 
won’t stand above two more.” 

“ Time’s up!” the boys rise again and face one another. 
Brooke can’t find it in his heart to stop them just yet, so 
the round goes on, the Slogger waiting for Tom, and re- 
serving all his strength to hit him out should he come in 
for the wrestling dodge again, for he feels that that must 
be stopped, or his sponge will soon go up in the air. 

And now another new-comer appears on the field, to wit, 
the under-porter, with his long brush and great wooden 
receptacle for dust under his arm. He has been sweeping 
out the schools. 

“ You’d better stop, gentlemen,” he says; “ the doctor 
knows that Brown’s fighting — he’ll be out in a minute.” 

“ You go to Bath, Bill,” is all that that excellent servi- 
tor gets by his advice. And being a man of his hands, and 
a stanch upholder of the school-house, can’t help stopping 
to look on for a bit, and see Tom Brown, their pet crafts- 
man, fight a round. 

It is grim earnest now, and no mistake. Both boys feel 
this, and summon every power of head, hand, and eye to 
their aid. A piece of luck on either side, a foot slipping, 
a blow getting well home, or another fall, may decide it. 
Tom works slowly round for an opening; he has all the 
legs, and can choose his own time; the Slogger waits for 
the attack, and hopes to finish it by some heavy right- 
handed blow. As they quarter slowly over the ground, the 
evening sun comes out from behind a cloud and falls full 
on Williams’s face. Tom darts in; the heavy right hand 
is delivered, but only grazes his head. A short rally at 
close quarters, and they close; in another moment the 
Slogger is thrown again heavily for the third time. 

“I’ll give you three to two on the little one in half 
crowns,” said Groove to Rattle. 

“No, thank ’ee,” answers the other, diving his hands 
further into his coat-tails. 

Just at this stage of the proceedings, the door of the tur- 
ret which leads to the doctor’s library suddenly opens, and 
he steps into the close, and makes straight for the ring, in 


211 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


which Brown and the Slogger are both seated on tlieii 
seconds’ knees for (he last time. 

“ The doctor! the doctor!” shouts some small boy who 
catches sight of him, and the ring melts away in a few 
seconds, the small boys tearing off, Tom collaring his 
jacket and waistcoat and slipping through the little gate 
by the chapel, and round the corner to Harrowell’s with 
his backers, as lively as need be; Williams and his backers 
making off not quite so fast across the close; Groove, Bat- 
tle, and the ether bigger fellows trying to combine digniLy 
audpiudence in a comical manner, and walking off fast 
enough, they hope, not to be recognized, and not fast 
enough to look like running away. 

Young Brooke alone remains on the ground by the time 
the doctor gets there, and touches his hat, not without a 
slight inward qualm. 

“ Hah! Brooke. I am surprised to see you here. Don’t 
you know that 1 expect the sixth to stop fighting?” 

Brooke felt much more uncomfortable than he had ex- 
pected, but he was rather a favorite with the doctor for his 
openness and plainness of speech; so blurted out, as he 
walked by the doctor’s side, who had already turned back. 

“ Yes, sir; generally. But I thought you wished us to 
exercise a discretion in the matter too — not to interfere too 
soon. ” 

“ But they have been fighting this half hour and more,” 
said the doctor. 

“ Yes, sir; but neither was hurt. And they’re the sort 
of boys who’ll be all the better friends now, which l hey 
wouldn’t have been if they had been stopped any earlier — 
before it was so equal.” 

“ Who was fighting with Brown?” said the doctor. 

“Williams, sir, of Thompson’s. He is bigger than 
Brown, and had the best of it at first, but not when you 
came up, sir. There’s a good deal of jealousy between 
our house, and Thompson’s, and there would have been 
more fights if this hadn’t been let go on, or if either of 
them had had much the worst of it.” 

“ Well, but Brooke,” said the doctor, “ doesn’t that look 


a little as if you exercised your discretion by only stopping 
a fight when the school-house boy is getting the worst of 
it?” 


Brooke it must be confessed, felt rather graveled. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


215 


“ Remember,” added the doctor, as he stopped at the 
turret-door, “ This fight is not to go on — you’ll see to that. 
And I expect you to stop all fights in future at once.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said young Brooke, touching his hat, 
aud not sorry to see the iurret-door close behind the doc- 
tor’s back. 

Meantime Tom and the stanchest of his adherents had 
reached Harrowell’s, and Sally was bustling about to get 
them a late tea, while Stumps had been sent off to Tew 
the butcher, to get a piece of raw beef for Tom’s eye, 
which was to be healed off-hand, so that he might show 
well in the morning. He was not a bit the worse except 
a slight difficulty in his vision, a singing in his ears, and a 
sprained thumb, which he kept in a cold water bandage, 
while he drank lots of tea, and listened to the Babel of voices 
talking and speculating of nothing but the fight, and how 
Williams would have given in after another fall (which he 
didn’t in the least believe), and how on earth the doctor 
could have got to know of it — such bad luck! He couldn’t 
help thinking to himself that he was glad he hadn’t won; 
he liked it better as it was, and felt very friendly to the 
Slogger. And then poor little Arthur crept in and sat 
down quietly near him, and kept looking at him and the 
raw beef with such plaintive looks, that Tom at last burst 
out laughing. 

“ Don’t make such eyes, young un,” said he, “ there’s 
nothing the matter.” 

“ Oh, but Tom, are you much hurt? I can’t bear think- 
ing, it was all for me.” 

“ Not a bit of it, don’t flatter yourself. We were sure 
to have had it out sooner or later.” 

“ Well, but you won’t go on, will you? You’ll promise 
me you won’t go on?” 

“ Can’t tell about that— all depends on the houses. 
We’re in the hands of our countrymen, you know. Must 
fight for the school-house flag, if so be.” 

However, the lovers of the science were doomed to disap- 
pointment this time. Directly after locking-up one of the 
night fags knocked at Tom’s door. 

“ Brown, young Brooke wants you in the sixth-form 
room.” 

Up went Tom to the summons, and found the magnates 
fitting at their supper. 


216 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“ Well, Brown,” said young Brooke, nodding it pirn* 
“ how do you feel?” 

“Oh, very well, thank you, only I’ve sprained my 
thumb, I think. ” 

“ Sure to do that in a fight. Well, you hadn’t the worst 
of it, I could see. Where did you learn that throw?” 

“ Down in the country, when 1 was a boy.” , 

“Halloo! why, what are you now? Well, never mind; 
you’re a plucky fellow. Sit down and have some supper.” 

Tom obeyed, by no means loath. And the fifth-form boy 
next him filled him a tumbler of bottled beer, and he eat 
and drank, listening to the pleasant talk, and wondering 
how soon he would be in the fifth and one of that much- 
envied society. 

As he got up to leave, Brooke said, “ You must shake 
hands to-morrow morning; 1 shall come and see that done 
after the first lesson.” 

And so he did. And Tom and the Slogger shook hands 
with great satisfaction and mutual respect. And for the 
next year or two, wheuever the fights were being talked of, 
the small bo} T s who had been present shook their heads 
wisely, saying, “Ah! but you should just have seen the 
fight between Slogger Williams and Tom Brown!” 

And now, boys all, three words before we quit the sub- 
ject. I have put in this chapter on fighting of malice 
prepense, partly because 1 want to give you a true picture 
of what every-day school life was in my time, ^nd not a 
kid-glove and go-to-meeting-coat picture; and partly be- 
cause of the cant and twaddle that’s talked of boxing and 
fighting with fists nowadays. Even Thackeray has given 
in to it; and only a few weeks ago there was some ram- 
pant stuff in the “ Times” on the subject, in an article 
on field sports. 

Boys will quarrel, and when they quarrel will sometimes 
fight. Fighting with fists is the natural and English way 
for English boys to settle their quarrels. What substitute 
for it is there, or ever was there, among any nation under 
the sun? What would you like to see take its place? 

Learn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket and foot- 
ball. Hot one of you will be the worse, but very much 
the better for learning to box well. Should you never 
have to use it ip earnest, there’s no exercise in the world 


TOM brown’s school-days. 217 

so good for the temper, and for the muscles of the back 
and legs. 

As for fighting, keep out of it if you can, by all means. 
When the time comes, if it ever should, that you have to 
say “Yes” or “No” to a challenge to fight, say 
“No,” if you can — only take care you make it clear 
to yourself why you say “No.” It’s a proof of the 
highest courage, if done from true Christian mo- 
tives. It’s quite right and justifiable, if done from a sim- 
ple aversion to physical pain and danger. But don’t say 
“ No” because you fear a licking, and say or think it’s 
because you fear God, for that’s neither Christian nor hon- 
est. And if you do fight, fight it out; and don’t give in 
while you can stand and see. 


CHAPTER VI. 

FEVER IN THE SCHOOL. 

This our hope for all that’s mortal, 

And we too shall hurst the bond; 

Death keeps watch beside the portal, 

But ’tis life that dwells beyond. 

John Sterling. 

Two years have passed since the events recorded in the 
last chapter, and the end of the summer half year is again 
drawing on. Martin has left and gone on a cruise in the 
South Pacific, in one of his uncle’s ships; the old magpie, 
as disreputable as ever, his last bequest to Arthur, lives in 
the joint study. Arthur is nearly sixteen, and is at the 
head of the twenty, having gone up the school at the rate 
of a form a half year. East and Tom have been much 
more deliberate in their progress, and are only a little way 
up the fifth-form. Great strapping boys they are, but still 
thorough boys, filling about the same place in the house 
that young Brooke filled when they were new boys, and much 
the same sort of fellows. Constant intercourse with Arthur 
has done much for both of them, especially for Tom; 
but much remains yet to be done, if they are to get all the 
good out of Rugby which is to be got there in these times. 
Arthur is still frail and delicate, with more spirit than body 
but, thanks to his intimacy with them and Martin, has 
learned to swim, and run, and play cricket, and has never 
hurt himself by too much reading. 


218 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


One evening as they were all sitting down to supper in 
the fifth-form room, some one started a report that a fever 
had broken out at one of the boarding-houses; “ they say,” 
lie added, “ that Thompson is very ill, and that Doctor 
Robertson has been sent for from Northampton.” 

“ Then we shall all be sent home,” cried another. 
“ Hurrah! five weeks extra holidays, and no fifth-form ex- 
amination!” 

“ I hope not,” said Tom; “ there’ll be no Marylebone 
match then at the end of the half.” 

Some thought one thing, some another, many didn’t be- 
lieve the report; but the next day, Tuesday, Dr. Robertson 
arrived, and stayed all day, and had long conferences with 
the doctor. 

On Wednesday morning, after prayers, the doctor ad- 
dressed the whole schoo 1 . There were several cases of 
fever in different houses, he said; but Dr. Robertson, after 
the most careful examination, had assured him that it was 
not infectious, and that if proper care were taken, there 
could be no reason for stopping the school-work at present. 
The examinations were just coming on, and it would be 
very unadvisable to break up now. However, any boys 
who chose to do so were at liberty to write home, and, if 
their parents wished it, to leave at once. He should send 
the whole school home if the fever spread. 

The next day Arthur sickened, but there was no other case. 
Before the end of the week thirty or forty boys had gone, but 
the rest stayed on. There was a general wish to please the 
doctor, and a feeling that it was cowardly to run away. 

On the Saturday Thompson died, in the brght afternoon, 
while the cricket-match was going on as usual on the 
big-side ground; the doctor coming from his death-bed, 
passed along the gravel-walk at the side of the close, but 
no one knew what had happened till the next day. At 
morning lecture it began to be rumored, and by afternoon 
chapel was known generally; and a feeling of seriousness 
and awe at the actual presence of death among them came 
over the whole school. In all the long years of his minis- 
try the doctor perhaps never spoke words which sunk 
deeper than some of those in that day’s sermon. “ When 
I came yesterday from visiting all but the very death-bed 
of him who has been taken from us, and looked around 
upon all the familiar objects and scenes within our owq 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


2n 

ground, where your common amusements were going on, 
with your common cheerfulness and activity, I felt there 
was nothing painful in witnessing that; it did not seem in 
any way shocking or out of tune with those feelings which 
the sight of a dying Christian must be supposed to awaken. 
The unsuitableness in point of natural feeling between 
scenes of mourning and scenes of liveliness did not at all 
present itself. But 1 did feel that if at that moment any 
of those faults had been brought before me which some- 
times occur among us; had I heard that any of you had 
been guilty of falsehood, or of drunkenness, or of any 
other such sin; had I heard from any quarter the language 
of profaneness, or of unkindness, or of indecency; had 1 
heard or seen any signs of that wretched folly which courts 
the laugh of fools by affecting not to dread evil and not to 
care for good, then the unsuitableness of any of these 
things with the scene I had just quitted would in- 
deed have been most intensely painful. And why? Not 
because such things would really have been worse than at 
any other time, but because at such a moment the eyes are 
opened really to know good and evil, because we then feel 
what it is so to live as that death becomes an infinite biers- 
ing, and what it is to live also, that it were good for us if 
we had never been born. ” 

Tom had gone into chapel in sickening anxiety about 
Arthur, but he came out cheered and strengthened by 
those grand words, and walked up alone to their study. 
And when he sat down and looked round, and saw Arthur’s 
straw-hat and cricket-jacket hanging on their pegs, and 
marked all his little neat arrangements, not one of which 
had been disturbed, the tears indeed rolled down his 
cheeks; but they were calm and blessed tears, and he re- 
peated to himself, “ Yes, Geordie’s eyes are opened — lie 
knows what it is so to live as that death becomes an infinite 
blessing. But do I? Oh, God, can I bear to lose him?” 

The week passed mournfully away. No more boys sick- 
ened, but Arthur was reported worse each day, and his 
mother arrived early in the week. Tom made many ap- 
peals to be allowed to see him, and several times tried to 
get up to the sick-room; but the housekeeper was always 
in the way, and at last spoke to the doctor, who kindly, 
hut peremptorily, forbade him. 

Thompson was buried on the Tuesday; and the burial 


320 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


service, so soothing and grand always, but beyond all words 
solemn when read over a boy’s grave to his companions, 
brought him much comfort, and many strange new 
thoughts and longings. He went back to his regular life, 
and played cricket and bathed as usual; it seemed to him 
that this was the right thing to do, and the new thoughts 
and longings became more brave and healthy for the effort. 
The crisis came on Saturday, the day week that Thompson 
had died, and during that long afternoon Tom sat in his 
study reading his Bible and going every half hour to the 
housekeeper’s room, expecting each time to hear that the 
gentle and brave little spirit had gone home. But God 
had work for Arthur to do, the crisis passed — on Sunday 
evening he was declared out of danger; on Monday he 
sent a message to Tom that he was almost well, had 
changed his room, and was to be allowed to see him the 
next day. 

It was evening when the housekeeper summoned him to 
the sick-room. Arthur was lying on the sofa by the open 
window, through which the rays of the western sun stole 
gently, lighting up his white face and golden hair. Tom 
remembered a German picture of an angel which he knew; 
often he had thought how transparent and golden, and 
spirit-like it was; and he shuddered to think how like it 
Arthur looked, and felt a shock as if his blood had all 
stopped short, as he realized how near the other world his 
friend must have been to look like that. Never till that 
moment bad he felt how his little chum had twined him- 
self around his heart-strings; and as he stole gently across 
the room and knelt down, and put his arm around Arthur’s 
head on the pillow, he felt ashamed and half angry at his 
•own red and brown face, and the bounding sense of health 
and power which filled every fiber of his body, and made 
every movement of mere living a joy to him. He needn’t 
have troubled himself; it was this very strength and 
power so different from his own which drew Arthur so to 
him. 

Arthur laid his thin white hand, on which the blue veins 
stood out so plainly, on Tom’s great brown fist, and smiled 
at him; and then looked out of the window again, as if he 
couldn’t bear to lose a moment of the sunset, into the tops 
of the great feathery elms, round which the rooks were 
circling and clanging, returning in flocks from their even- 


TOM brown’s school-days. 221 

mg’s foraging parties. The elms rustled , the sparrows in 
the ivy just outside the window chirped and fluttered about, 
quarreling and making it up again; the rooks young and 
old talked in chorus; and the merry shouts of the boys, 
and the sweet click of the cricket bats, came up cheerily 
from below. 

“ Pear George,” said Tom, “ I am so glad to be let up 
to see you at last. I’ve tried hard to come so often, but 
they wouldn’t let me before.” 

“ Oh, 1 know, Tom; Mary has told me every day about 
you, and how she was obliged to make the doctor speak 
to you to keep you away. I’m very glad you didn’t get 
up, for you might have caught it, and you couldn’t stand 
being ill with all the matches going on. And you’re in 
the eleven, too, I hear— I’m so glad.” 

“ Yes, ain’t it jolly?” said Tom, proudly; I’m ninth 
too. I made forty at the last pie-match and caught three 
fellows out. So I was put in above Jones and Tucker. 
Tucker’s so savage, for he was head of the twenty-two.” 

“ Well, I think you ought to be higher yet,” said 
Arthur, who was as jealous for the renown of Tom in 
games as Tom was for his as a scholar. 

“ Never mind, I don’t care about cricket or anything 
now you’re getting well, Geordie; and I shouldn’t have 
been hurt, I know, if they’d have let me come up— nothing 
hurts me. But you’ll get about now directly, won’t you? 
You won’t believe how clean I’ve kept the study. All 
your things are just as you left them; and I feed the 
old magpie just when you used, though I have to come 
in from big-side for him, the old rip. He won’t look 
pleased all I can do, and sticks his head first on one side 
and then on the other, and blinks at me before he’ll begin 
to eat, till I’m half inclined to box his ears. And when- 
ever East comes in, you should see him hop off to the 
window, dot and go one, though Harry wouldn’t touch a 
feather of him now.” 

Arthur laughed. <r Old Gravey has a good memory; he 
can’t forget the sieges of poor Martin’s den in old times.” 
He paused a moment, and then went on. “ You can’t 
think how often I’ve been thinking of old Martin since I’ve 
been ill, I suppose one’s mind gets restless, and likes to 
wander off to strange unknown places. I wonder what 


222 


TOM bkown’s school-bats. 


queer new pets the old boy has got; bow he mast be revell- 
ing in the thousand new birds, beasts, and fishes. ” 

Tom felt a pang of jealousy, bat, kicked it out in a mo- 
ment. “Fancy him m a Suuih Sea Island, with the 
Cherokees or Patagonians, or some snob wild niggers ” 
(Tom’s ethnology and geography were faulty, but sufficient 
for his needs); theynTinake the old Madman cock medi- 
cine-man, and tattoo him all over. Perhaps he’s cutting 
about now all blue, and has a squaw and a wigwam. He’ll 
improve their boomerangs, and be able to throw them 
too, without having old Thomas sent after him by the 
doctor to take them away.” 

Arthur laughed at the remembrance of the boomerang 
story, but then looked brave again, and said, “ He’ll con- 
vert all the island, I know.” 

“ Yes, if he don’t blow it up first.” 

“ Do you remember, Tom, how you and East used to 
laugh at him and chaff him, because he said he was sure 
the rooks all had calling-over or prayers, or something of 
that sort when the locking-up bell rung? Well I declare,” 
said Arthur, looking up seriously into Tom’s laughing eyes, 
“ I do think he was right. Since I’ve been lying here, I’ve 
watched them every night; and do you know, they really 
do come, and perch all of them just about locking-up time; 
and then first there’s a regular chorus of caws, and then 
they stop a bit, and one old fellow, or perhaps two or three 
in different trees, caw solos, and then off they all go again, 
fluttering about and cawing anyhow till they roost.” 

“ I wonder if the old blackies do talk,” said Tom, look- 
ing up at them. “How they must abuse me and East, 
and pray for the doctor for stopping the slinging.” 

“ There! look, look!” cried Arthur; “ don’t you see the 
old fellow without a tail coming up? Martin used to call 
him the 4 clerk.’ He can’t steer himself. Y T ou never saw 
such fun as he is in a high wind, when he can’t steer him- 
self home, and gets carried right past the trees, and has to 
bear up again and again before he can perch.” 

“The locking-up bell began to toll, and the two boys 
were silent, and listened to it. The sound soon carried 
Tom off to the river and the woods, and he began to go 
over in his mind the many occasions on which he had heard 
that toll coming faintly down the breeze, and had to pack 
up his rod in a hurry, and make a run for it, to get in be* 


TOM brown’s school-days. 


223 


fore the gates were shut. lie was roused with a start from 
his memories by Arthur’s voice gentle and weak from his 
late illness. 

“ Tom, will yoii be angry if 1 talk to you very seri- 
ously ?” 

“ No, dear old boy, not 1. But ain’t you faint, Arthur, 
or ill? What can I get you? Don’t say anything to hurt 
yourself now — you are very weak; let me come up again.” 

“ No, no, I shan’t hurt myself, I’d sooner speak to you 
now, if you don’t mind. I’ve asked Mary to tell the doc- 
tor that you are with me, so you needn’t go down to call- 
ing-over; and I mayn’t have another chance, for I shall 
most likely have to go home for change of air to get well, 
and mayn’t come back this half.” 

“ Oh, do you think you must go away before the end of 
the half? I’m so sorry. It’s more than five weeks yet 
to the holidays, and all the fifth-form examination and 
half the cricket matches to come yet. And what shall 1 
do all that time alone in our study? Why, Arthur, it will 
be more than twelve weeks before 1 see you again. Oh, 
hang it, I can’t stand that! Besides, who’s to keep me up 
to working at the examination books! 1 shall come out 
bottom of the form as sure as eggs is eggs.” 

Tom was rattling on, half in joke, half in earnest, for he 
wanted to get Arthur out of his serious vein, thinking it 
would do him harm; but Arthur broke in — 

“ Oh, please, Tom, stop, or you’ll drive all I had to say 
out of my head. And I’m already horribly afraid I’m 
going to make you angry.” 

“ Don’t gammon, young’ un,” rejoined Tom (the use of 
the old name, dear to him from old recollections, made 
Arthur start aud smile, and feel quite happy); “ you know 
you ain’t afraid, and you’ve never made me angry since the 
first month we chummed together. Now I’m going to be 
quite sober for a quarter of an hour, which is more than I 
am once in a year, so make the most of it; heave ahead, 
afid pitch into me right and left.” 

“ Dear Tom, 1 ain’t going to pitch into you,” said 
Arthur, piteously; “and it seems so cocky in me to be 
advising you wiio’ve been my back-bone ever since I’ve 
been at Rugby, and have made the school a paradise to me. 
Ah, I see I shall never do it unless I go head over heels at 


324 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


once, as you said when you taught me to swim. Tom, I 
want you to give up using vulgus-books and cribs. " 

Arthur sunk back on to his pillow with a sigh, as if the 
effort had been great; but the worst was now over, and he 
looked straight at Tom, who was evidently taken aback. 
He leaned his elbows on his knees, and stuck his hands 
into his hair, whistled a verse of “ Billy Taylor," and then 
was quite silent for another minute. Not a shade crossed 
his face, but he was clearly puzzled. At last he looked up 
and caught Arthur's anxious look, took his hand, and said 
simply: 

“ Why, young ’un?" 

“ Because you’re the honestest boy in Rugby, and that 
ain’t honest." 

“ I don’t see that." 

“ What were you sent to Rugby, for?" 

“ Well, I don’t know exactly — nobody ever told me. I 
suppose because all boys are sent to a public school in Eng- 
land." 

“ But what do you think yourself? What do you want 
to do here, and to carry away?" 

Tom thought a minute. “ 1 want to be A 1 at cricket 
and football, and all the other games, and to make my 
hands keep my head against any fellow, lout or gentleman. 
I want to get into the sixth before 1 leave, and to please 
the doctor; and I want to carry away just as much Latin 
and Greek as will take me through Oxford respectably. 
There now, young ’un, I never thought of it before, but 
that’s pretty much about my figure. Ain’t it all on the 
square? What have you got to say to that?" 

“ Why, that you are pretty sure to do all that you want, 
then." 

“ Well, I hope so. But you’ve forgot one thing, that I 
want to leave behind me. I want to leave behind me," 
said Tom, speaking slow, and looking much moved, “ the 
name of a fellow who never bullied a little boy, or turned 
his back on a big one. " 

Arthur pressed his hand, and after a moment’s silence 
went on: “ You say, Tom, you want to please the doctor. 
Now, do you want to please him by what he thinks you do, 
or by what you really do?" 

“ By what I really do, of course." 

6( Does he think you use cribs and vulgus-books?" 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


225 


Tom felt at once that his flank was turned, but ho 
couldn’t give in. “ He was at Winchester himself,” said 
he; “ he knows all about it.” 

“ Yes, but does he think you use them? Do you think 
he approves of it?” 

“You young villain!” said Tom, shaking his fist at 
Arthur, half vexed and half pleased, “ I never think about 
it. Hang it— -there, perhaps he don’t. Well, I suppose 
he don’t.” 

Arthur saw that he had got his point; he knew his friend 
well, and was wise in silence as in speech. He only said,“ I 
would sooner have the doctor’s good opinion of me as I 
really am than any man’s in the world.” 

After another minute, Tom began again: 

“ Look here, young ’un, how on earth am I to get time 
to play the matches this half if 1 give up cribs? We’re in 
the middle of that long crabbed chorus in the Agamemnon; 

I can only just make head or tail of it with the crib. 
Then there’s Pericles’s speech coming on in Thucydides, 
and 4 The Birds ’ to get up for the examination, besides the , 
Tacitus.” Tom groaned at the thought of his accumu- 
lated labors. “ I say, young ’un, there’s only five weeks 
or so left to the holidays; mayn’t I go on as usual for this 
half? I’ll tell the doctor about it some day, or you may.” 

Arthur looked out of the window; the twilight had come 
on, and all was silent. He repeated, in alow voice, “ In this 
thing the Lord pardon thy servant, that when my master 
goetli into the house of Rirnmon to worship there, and he 
leaneth on my hand, and I bow down myself in the house 
of Rirnmon, whea I bow down myself in the house of Rim- 
mon, the Lord pardon thy servant in this thing.” 

Not a word more was said on the subject, and the boys 
were again silent — one of those blessed, short silences in 
which the resolves which color a life are so often taken. 

Tom was the first to break it. “ You’ve been very ill 
indeed, haven’t you, Geordie?” said he, with a mixture of 
awe and curiosity, feeling as if his friend had been in some 
strange place or scene, of which he could form no idea, 
and full of the memory of his own thoughts during the 
past week. 

“Yes, very. I’m sure the doctor thought 1 was going 
to die. He gave me the sacrament last Sunday, and you 
can’t think what he is when one is ill. He said such brave, 

8 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


226 

and tender, and gentle things to me, 1 felt quite light and 
strong after it, and never had any more fear. My mother 
brought our old medical man, who attended me when I 
was a poor sickly child; he said my constitution was quite 
changed, and that I’m fit for anything now. If I hadn’t, 
I couldn’t have stood three days of this illness. That’s all 
thanks to you, and the games you made me fond of.” 

“More thanks to old Martin,” said Tom; “ he’s been 
your real friend.” 

“ Nonsense, Tom; he never could have done for me what 
you have.” 

“Well, I don’t know; I did little enough. Did they 
tell you — you won’t mind hearing it now, I know — that 
poor Thompson died last week? The other three boys are 
getting quite round, like you.” 

“ Oh, yes, 1 heard of it.” 

Then Tom, who was quite full of it, told Arthur of the 
burial-service in the chapel, and how it had impressed him, 
and he believed, all the other boys. “ And though the 
• doctor never said a word about it,” said he, “ and it was a 
half-holiday and match-day, there wasn’t a game played in 
the close all the afternoon, and the boys all went about as 
ii it were Sunday.” 

“ I’m very glad of it,” said Arthur. “ But, Tom, I’ve 
had such strange thoughts about death lately. I’ve never 
told a soul of them, not even my mother. Sometimes 1 
think they are wrong; but, do you know, I don’t think in 
my heart I could be sorry at the death of any of my 
friends. ” 

Tom was taken quite aback. “ What in the world is 
the young ’un after now?” thought he; “ I’ve swallowed 
a good many of his crotchets, but this altogether beats me. 
He can’t be quite right in his head.” He didn’t want to 
say a word, and shifted about uneasily in the dark; how- 
ever, Arthur seemed to be waiting for an answer, so at last 
he said, “ 1 don’t think 1 quite see what you mean, Geor- 
die. One’s told so often to think about death, that I’ve 
tried it on sometimes, especially this last week. But we 
won’t talk of it now. I’d better go — you’re getting tired, 
and I shall do you harm.” 

“ No, no, indeed I ain’t Tom; you must stop till nine, 
there’s only twenty minutes. I’ve settled you shall stop 
till nine. And oh! do let me talk to you — I must talk to 


tom brown’s school-days. 227 

you. 1 see it’s just as I feared. You think Pm half 
mad — don’t you now?” 

“ Well, I did think it odd what you said, Geordie, as 
you ask me.” 

Arthur paused a moment, and then said, quickly, “ I’ll 
tell you how it all happened. At first, when I was sent to 
the sick-room, and found 1 had really got the fever, 1 was 
terribly frightened. I thought I should die, and I could 
not face it for a moment. 1 don’t think it was sheer 
cowardice at first, but I thought how hard it was lo be 
taken away from my mother and sisters, and you all, just 
as I was beginning to see my way to many things, and to 
feel that I might be a man and do a man’s work. To die 
without having fought, and worked, and given one’s life 
away, was too hard to bear. I got terribly impatient, and 
accused God of injustice, and strove to justify myself; and 
the harder I strove the deeper 1 sunk. Then the imago 
of my dear father often came across me, but 1 turned from 
it. Whenever it came, a heavy numbing throb seemed to 
take hold of my heart and say, ‘ Dead — dead — dead.’ And 
1 cried out, 4 The living, the living shall praise Thee, oh, 
God; the dead can not praise Thee. There is no work in 
the grave; in I he night no man can work. But I can 
work. I can do great things. I will do great things. 
Why wilt Thou slay me?’ And so I struggled and plunged, 
deeper and deeper, and went down into a living black 
tomb. I was alone there, with no power to stir or think; 
alone with myself; beyond the reach of all human fellow- 
ship; beyond Christ’s reach, I thought, in my nightmare. 
You, who are brave and bright and strong, can have no 
idea of that agony. Pray to God you never may. Pray 
as for your life.” 

Arthur stopped — from exhaustion, Tom thought; but 
what between his fear lest Arthur should hurt himself, his 
awe, and longing for him to go on, he couldn’t ask or stir 
to help him. 

Presently he went on, but quite calm and slow. “ I 
don’t know how long 1 was in that state. For more than 
a day, I know; for f was quite conscious, and lived my 
outer life all the time, and took my medicine, and spoke 
to my mother, and heard what they said. But 1 didn’t 
take muih note of time; I thought time was over for 
me, and that that tomb was what was beyond. Well, on 


228 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


last Sunday morning, as I seemed to lie in that tomb, 
alone, as I thought, forever and ever, the black dead wall 
was cleft in two, and 1 was caught up and borne through 
into the light by some great power, some living mighty 
spirit. Tom, do you remember the living creatures and 
the wheels in Ezekiel? It was just like that: 4 when they 
went I heard the noise of their wings, like the noise of 
great waters, as the voice of the Almighty, the voice of 
speech, as the noise of an host; when they stood they let 
down their wings ' — 4 and they went every one straight 
forward; whither the spirit was to go they went, and they 
turned not when they went. ’ And we rushed through the 
bright air, which was full of myriads of living creatures, 
and paused on the brink of a great river. And the power 
held me up, and I knew that that great river was the grave, 
and death dwelt there; but not the death I had met in the 
black tomb— that 1 felt was gone forever. For on the 
other bank of the great river I saw men and women and 
children rising up pure and bright, and the tears were 
wiped from their eyes, and they put on glory and 
strength, and all weariness and pain fell away. And be- 
yond were a multitude which no man could number, and 
they worked at some great work; and they who rose from 
tiie river went on and joined in the work. They all 
worked and each worked in a different way, but all at the 
same work. And I saw there my father, and the men in 
the old town whom I knew when 1 was a child; many a 
hard, stern man, who never came to church, and whom 
they called atheist and infidel. There they were, side by 
side with my father, whom I had seen toil and die for 
them, and women and little children, and the seal was on 
the foreheads of all. And I longed to see what the work 
was, and could not; so I tried to plunge in the river, for 1 
thought I would join them, but I could not. Then I 
looked about to see how they got into the river. And this 
I could not see, but 1 saw myriads on this side, and they 
too worked, and I knew that it was the same work; and 
the same seal was on their foreheads. And though I saw 
that there was toil and anguish in the work of these, and 
that most that were working were blind and feeble, yet I 
longed no more to plunge into the river, but more and 
more to know what the work was. And as I looked I saw 
my mother and my sisters, and 1 saw the doctor and you, 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


229 


Tom, and hundreds more whom I knew; and at last I saw 
myself, too, and 1 was toiling and doing ever so little a 
piece of the great work. Then it all melted away, and the 
power left -me, and as it left me I thought 1 heard a voice 
say, ‘ The vision is for an appointed time; though it tarry, 
wait for it, for in the end it shall speak and not lie, it shall 
surely come, it shall not tarry.' it was early morning I 
know then, it was so quiet and cool, and my mother was 
fast asleep in the chair by my bedside; but it wasn’t only 
a dream of mine. 1 know it wasn’t a dream. Then 
I fell into a deep sleep, and only woke after after- 
noon chapel; and the doctor came and gave me the sacra- 
ment, as I told you. 1 told him and my mother that 
I should get well — I knew I should; but I couldn’t 
tell them why. Tom,” said Arthur, gently, after another 
minute, “ do you see why I could not grieve now to see 
my dearest friend die? It can’t be — it isn’t, all fever or 
illness. God would never have let me see it so clear if it 
wasn’t true. I don’t understand it all yet — it will take 
me my life and longer to do that — to find out what the 
work is.” 

When Arthur stopped there was a long pause. Tom 
could not speak, he was almost afraid to breathe, lest he 
should break the train of Arthur’s thoughts. He longed 
to hear more, and to ask questions. In another minute 
nine o’clock struck, and a gentle tap at the door called 
them both back into the world again. They did not an- 
swer, however, for a moment, and so the door opened mid 
a lady came in carrying a candle. 

She went straight to the sofa, and took hold of Arthur’s 
hand, and then stooped down and kissed him. 

“ My dearest boy, you feel a little feverish again. Why 
didn’t you have lights? You’ve talked too much and ex- 
cited yourself in the dark.” 

54 Oh, no, mother; you can’t think how well I feel. I 
shall start with you to-morrow for Devonshire. But, 
mother, here’s my friend, here’s Tom Brown — you know 
him.” 

44 Yes, indeed, I’ve known him for years,” she said, and 
held out her hand to Tom, who was now standing up be- 
hind the sofa. This was Arthurs mother. Tall and slight 
and fair, with masses of golden hair drawn back from the 
broad white forehead, and the calm blue eye meeting his 


230 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


so deep and open — the eye that he knew so well, for it was 
his friend’s over again, and the lovely, tender mouth that 
trembled while he looked. She stood there a woman of 
thirty-eight, old enough to be his mother, and one whose 
face showed the lines which must be written on the faces 
of good men’s wives and widows — but he thought he had 
never seen anything so beautiful. He couldn’t help won- 
dering if Arthur’s sisters were like her. 

Tom held her hand, and looked oil straight in her face; 
he could neither let it go nor speak. 

“ Now, Tom,” said Arthur, laughing, “ where are your 
manners? you’ll stare my mother out of countenance.” 
Tom dropped the little hand with a sigh. “ There, sit 
down, both of you. Here dearest mother, there’s room- 
here;” and he made a place on the sofa for her. “ Tom, 
you needn’t go; I’m sure you won’t be called up at first 
lesson.” Tom feit that he would risk being floored at 
every lesson for the rest of his natural school-life sooner 
than go, so sat down. “ And now,” said Arthur, “ I have 
realized one of the dearest wishes of my life — to see you 
two together.” 

And then he led away the talk to their home in Devon- 
shire, and the red bright earth, and the deep green combes, 
and the peat streams like cairngorm pebbles, and the wild 
moor with its high cloudy Tors for a giant background to 
the picture — till Tom got jealous, and stood up for the 
clear chalk streams, and the emera.d water meadows and 
great elms and willows of the dear old Royal county, as he 
gloried to call it. And the mother sat on quiet and loving, 
rejoicing in their life. The quarter-to-ten struck, and the 
bell rang for bed before they had well begun their talk, as 
it seemed. 

Then Tom rose with a sigh to go. 

“ Shall 1 see you in the morning, Geordie?” said he, as 
he shook his friend’s hand. “ Never mind though; you’ll 
be back next half, and I sha’n’t forget the house of Rim- 
mon.” 

Arthur’s mother got up and walked with him to the 
door, and there gave him her hand again, and again his 
eyes met that deep loving look, which was like a spell upon 
him. Her voice trembled slightly as she said: 

“ Good-night — you are one who knows what our Father 
has promised to the friend of the widow and the fatherless. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


231 


May He deal with you as you have dealt with me and 
mine!” 

Tom was quite upset; he mumbled something about ow- 
ing everything good in him to Geordie — looked in her face 
again, pressed her hand to his lips, and rushed down-stairs 
to his study, where he sat till old Thomas came kicking at 
the door to tell him his allowance would be stopped if he 
didn’t go off to bed. (It would have been stopped any- 
how, but that he was a great favorite with the old gentle- 
man, who loved to come out in the afternoon into the close 
to Tom’s wicket, and bowl slow twisters to him, and talk 
of the glories of by-gone Surrey heroes, with whom he had 
played in former generations.) So Tom roused himself, 
and took up his candle to go to bed; and then for the first 
time wa3 aware of a beautiful new fishing-rod, with old 
Eaton’s mark on it, and a splendidly bound Bible, which 
lay on his table, on the title page of which was written — 
“Tom Brown, from his affectionate and grateful friends, 
Frances Jane Arthur; George Arthur. ” 

I leave you all to guess how he slept, and what he 
dreamed of. 


CHAPTER VII. 

HARRY EAST’S DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES. 

The Holy Supper is kept indeed, 

In whatso we share with another’s need — 

Not that which we gave, but what we share, 

For the gift without the giver is bare: 

Who bestows himself with alms feeds three. 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me. 

The Vision of Sir Launfal — Lowell, p. 11. 

The next morning, after breakfast, Tom, East, and 
Gower met as usual to learn their second lesson together. 
Tom had been considering how to break his proposal of 
giving up the crib to the others, and having found no bet- 
ter way (as indeed none better can ever be found by man 
or boy), told them simply what had happened; how he had 
been "to see Arthur, who had talked to him upon the sub- 
ject, and what he had said, and for his part he had made 
up his mind, and wasn’t going to use cribs any more; and 
not being quite sure of his ground, took the high and pa- 
thetic tone, mid vvas proceeding to say, “ how that having 


232 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


learned his lessons with them for so many years, it would 
grieve him much to put an end to the arrangement, and 
he hoped at any rate that if they wouldn't go on with him, 
they should still be just as good friends, and respect one 
another's motives — but — " 

Here the other boys, who had been listening with open 
eyes and ears, burst in — 

“ Stuff and nonsense!" cried Gower. “ Here, East, get 
down the crib and find the place." 

“ Oh, Tommy, Tommy!" said East, proceeding to do as 
he was bidden, “ that it should ever have come to this. I 
knew Arthur 'd be the ruin of you some day, and you of 
me. And now the time's come," and he made a doleful 
face. 

“ I don't know about ruin," answered Tom; “ I know 
that you and I would have had the sack long ago, if it 
hadn't been for him. And you know it as well as I." 

“ Well, we were in a baddish way before he came. I 
own; but this new crochet of his is past a joke." 

“ Let's give it a trial, Harry; come — you know how 
often he has been right and we wrong." 

“Now, don't you two be jawing away about young 
Square-toes," struck in Gower. “ He’s no end of a suck- 
ing wiseacre, 1 dare say, but we've no time to lose, and I've 
got the fives'-court at half past nine." 

“Isay, Gower," said Tom, appealingly, “be a good 
fellow, and let's try if we can't get on without the crib." 

“ What! in this chorus? Why. we sha’n't get through 
ten lines." 

“Isay, Tom," cried East, having hit on a new idea, 
“ don't you remember, when we were in the upper fourth, 
and old Momus caught me construing off the leaf of a crib 
which I'd torn out and put in my book, and which would 
float out on to the floor, he sent me up to be flogged for 

“ Yes, 1 remember it very well." 

“ Well, the doctor, after he’d flogged me, told me him- 
self that he didn't flog me for using a translation, but for 
taking it into lesson, and using it there when I hadn’t 
learned a word before I came in. He said there was no 
harm in using a translation to get a clew to hard passages, 
if you tried all you could first to make them out without." 


TOM brown’s school-days. 233 

“ Did he, though?” said Tom: “ then Arthur must be 
wrong.” 

“ Of course he is,” said Gower, “ the little prig. AVe’ll* 
only use the crib when we can’t construe without it. Go 
ahead, East.” 

And on this agreement they started: Tom satisfied with 
having made his confession, and not sorry to have a locus 
pceni tent ice, and not to be deprived altogether of the use 
of his old and faithful friend. 

The boys went on as usual, each taking a sentence in 
turn, and the crib being handed to the one whose turn it 
was to construe. Of course Tom couldn’t object to* this, 
as, was it not simply lying there to be appealed to in case 
the sentence should prove too hard altogether for the con- 
struer? But it must be owned that Gower and East did 
not make very tremendous exertions to conquer their sent- 
ences before having recourse to its help. Tom, however, 
with the most heroic virtue and gallantry rushed into his 
sentence, searching in a high-minded manner for nomina- 
tive and verb, and turning over his dictionary frantically 
for the first hard word that stopped him. But in the 
meantime Gower, who was bent on getting to fives, would 
peep quietly into the crib, and then suggest, “ Don’t you 
think this is the meaning? 1 think you must take it this 
way, Brown;” and as Tom didn’t see his way to not profit- 
ing by these suggestions, the lesson went on about as quickly 
as usual, and Gower was able to start for the fives’-court 
within five minutes of the half hour. 

When Tom and East were left face to face, they looked 
at one another for a minute, Tom puzzled, and East chock 
full of fun, and then burst into a roar of laughter. 

“ Well, Tom,” said East, recovering himself, “ 1 don’t 
see any objection to the new way. It’s about as good as 
the old one, 1 think; besides the advantage it gives one of 
feeling virtuous, and looking down on one’s neighbors.” 

Tom shoved his hand into his back hair. “ 1 ain’t so 
sure,” said he, “ you two fellows carried me off my legs: 

I don’t think we really tried one sentence fairly. Are you 
sure you remember what the doctor said to you?” 

“ Yes. And I’ll swear I couldn’t make out one of my 
sentences to-day. No, nor ever could. I really don’t re- 
member,” said East, speaking slowly and impressively, 
“ to have come across ope Latin or Greek sentence this 


23 f 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


half, that I could go and construe by the light of nature. 
Whereby I am sure Providence intended cribs to be used.” 

“The thing to find out,” said Tom, meditatively, “is 
how long one ought to grind at a sentence without looking 
at the crib. Now I think if one fairly looks out all the 
words one don’t know, and then can’t hit it, that’s enough. ” 

“ To be sure. Tommy,” said East, demurely, but with 
a merry twinkle in his eye. “ Your new doctrine too, old 
fellow,” added he, “ when one comes to think of it, is a 
cutting at the root of all school morality. l r ou’ll take 
away mutual help, brotherly love, or in the vulgar tongue, 
giving construes, which I hold to be one of our highest vir- 
tues. For how can you distinguish between getting a con- 
strue from another boy, and using a crib? Hang it, Tom, 
if you’re going to deprive all our school-fellows of the 
chance of exercising Christian benevolence and being good 
Samaritans, f shall cut the concern. ” 

“ I wish you wouldn’t joke about it, Harry; it’s hard 
enough to see one’s way, a precious sight harder than I 
thought last night. But I suppose there’s a use and an 
abuse of both, and one’ll get straight enough somehow. 
But you can’t make out anyhow that one has a right to 
use old vulgus-books and copy-books.” 

“ Halloo, more heresy! how fast a fellow goes down hill 
when he once gets his head before his legs. Listen to me, 
Tom. Not use old vulgus-books? — why, you Goth! ain’t 
we to take the benefit of the wisdom, and admire and use 
the work of past generations? Not use old copy-books! 
Why you might as well say we ought to pull down West- 
minster Abbey, and put a go-to-meeting-shop with church 
warden windows; or never read Shakespeare, but only Sheri- 
dan Knowles. Think of all the work and labor that our 
predecessors have bestowed on these very books; and are 
we to make their work of no value?” 

“ I say, Harry, please don’t chaff; I’m really serious.” 

“ And then, is it not our duty to consult the pleasure of 
others rather than our own, and above all that of our mas- 
ters? Fancy then the difference to them in looking over a 
vulgus which has been carefully touched and retouched by 
themselves and others, and which must bring them a sort 
of dreamy pleasure, as if they’d met the thought or expres- 
sion of it somewhere or another — before they were born 
perhaps; and that of citing up, and making picture-frames 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


235 


round all your and my false quantities, and other monstros- 
ities. Why, Tom, you wouldn’t be so cruel as never to let 
old Mourns hum over the ‘ 0 genus Jntmanum,’ again, 
and then look up doubtingly through his spectacles, and 
end by smiling and giving three extra marks for it: just 
for old sake’s sake, 1 suppose.” 

“ Well,” said Tom, getting up in something as like a 
huff as he was capable of, “ it’s deuced hard that when a 
fellow’s really trying to do what he ought, his best friends 
’ll do nothing but chaff him and try to put him down.” 

And he stuck his books under his arm and his hat on his 
head, preparatory to rushing out into the quadrangle, to 
testify with his own soul of the faithlessness of friendships. 

“ Now don’t be an ass, Tom,” said East, catching hold 
of him, “you know me well enough by this time; my 
bark’s worse than my bite. You can’t expect to ride your 
new crotchet without anybody’s trying to stick a nettle 
under his tail and make him kick you off especially as we 
shall all have to go on foot still. But now sit down and 
let’s go over it again. I’ll be as serious as a judge.” 

Then Tom sat himself down on the table, and waxed elo- 
quent about all the righteousness and advantages of the 
new plan, as was his wont whenever he took up anything; 
going into it as if his life depended upon it, and sparing no 
abuse which he could think of of the opposite method, which 
he denounced as ungentlemanly, cowardly, mean, lying, 
and no one knows what besides. “ Very cool of Tom,” as 
East thought, but didn’t say, “ seeing as how he only came 
out of Egypt himself last night at bed-time.” 

“ Well, Tom,” said he at last, “ you see, when you and I 
came to school there were none of these sort of notions. 
You may be right — I dare say you are. Only what one has 
always felt about the masters is, that it’s a fair trial of skill 
and last between us and them — like a match at football, or 
a battle. We’re natural enemies in school, that’s the fact. 
We’ve got to learn so much Latin and Greek and do so 
many verses, and they’ve got to see that we do it. If we 
can slip the collar and do so much less wifhout getting 
caught, that’s one to us. If they can get more out of us, 
or catch us shirking, that’s one to them. All’s fair in war 
but lying. If I run my luck against theirs, and go into 
school without looking at my lessons, and don’t get called 
up, why am I a snob or a sneak? I don’t tell the master 


236 


TOM brown’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 


I ve learned it. He’s got to find out whether I have Dr not; 
what’s he paid for? If he calls me up, and I get floored, 
he makes me write it out in Greek and English. Very 
good, lie’s caught me, and I don’t grumble. I grant you, 
if I go and snivel to him, and tell him I’ve really tried to 
learn it but found it so hard without a translation, or say 
I’ve had a toothache, or any humbug of that kind, I’m a 
enob. That’s my school morality; it’s served me — and you 
too, Tom, for the matter of that — these five years. And 
it’s all clear and fair, nc mistake about it. We understand 
it, and they understand it, and I don’t know what we are 
to come to with any other.” 

Tom looked at him pleased and a little puzzled. He had 
never heard East speak his mind seriously before, and 
couldn’t help feeling how completely he had hit his own 
theory and practice up to that time. 

“ Thank you, old fellow,” said he. “ You’re a good old 
brick to be serious, and not put out with me. 1 said more 
than 1 meant, 1 dare say, only you see I know I’m right: 
whatever you and Gower and the rest do I shall hold on — 
I must. And as it’s all new and an up-hill game, you see, 
one must hit hard and hold on tight first.” 

“ Very good,” said East; “ hold on and hit away, only 
don’t hit under the line.” 

“ But 1 must bring you over, Harry, or I sha’n’t be 
comfortable. Now, 1 allow all you’ve said. We’ve always 
been honorable enemies with the masters. We found a 
state of war when we came, and went into it of course. 
Only don’t you think things are altered a good deal? 1 
don’t feel as 1 used to the masters. They seem to me to 
treat one quite differently.” 

“ Yes, perhaps they do,” said East; “ there’s a new set, 
you see, mostly, who don’t feel sure of themselves yet. 
They don’t want to fight till they know the ground.” 

“ I don’t think it’s only that,” said Tom. “ And then 
the doctor, he does treat one so openly and like a gentle- 
man, and as if one was working with him.” 

“ Well, so he does,” said East; “ he’s a splendid fellow, 
and when I get into the sixth 1 shall act accordingly. Only 
you know he has nothing to do with our lessons now except 
examining us. 1 say, though,” looking at his watch, “ it’s 
just the quarter. Come along.” 

As they walked out they got a message, to say, “ that 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


23 ? 


Arthur was just starting and would like to say good-bye;” 
so they went down to the private entrance of the school- 
house, and found an open carriage, with Arthur propped 
up with pillows in it, looking already better, Tom thought. 

They jumped up on to the steps to shake hands with 
him, and Tom mumbled thanks for the presents he had 
found in his study, and looked round anxiously for 
Arthur’s mother. 

East, who had fallen back into his usual humor, looked 
quaintly at Arthur, and said: 

“ So you’ve been at it again, through that hot-headed 
convert of yours there, lie’s been making our lives a bur- 
den to us all the morning about using cribs. I shall get 
floored to a certainty at second lesson, if I’m called up.” 

Arthur blushed and looked down. Tom struck in: 

“ Oh, it’s all right. He’s converted already; he always 
comes through the mud after us, grumbling and sputter- 
ing.” 

The clock struck, and they had to go off to school, wish- 
ing Arthur a pleasant holiday; Tom lingering behind a 
moment to send his thanks and love to Arthur’s mother. 

Tom renewed the discussion after second lesson, and suc- 
ceeded so far as to get East to promise to give the new plan 
a fair trial. 

Encouraged by his success, in the evening, when they 
were sitting alone in the large study, where East lived now 
almost, “ vice Arthur on leave ” after examining the new 
fishing-rod, which both pronounced to be the genuine arti- 
cle (“ play enough to throw a midge tied on a single hair 
against the wind, and strength enough to hold a 
grampus”), they naturally began talking about Arthur. 
Tom, who was still bubbling- over with last night’s scene, 
and all the thoughts of the last week, and wanting to clinch 
and fix the whole in his own mind, which he could never 
do without fiist going through the process of belaboring 
somebody else with it all, suddenly rushed into the subject 
of Arthur’s illness, and what he had said about death. 

East had given him the desired opening; after a serio- 
comic grumble, “ that life wasn’t worth having now they 
were tied to a young beggar who was always ‘raising his 
standard;’ and that he, East, was like a prophet’s donkey, 
who was obliged to struggle on after the donkey-man who 
went after the prophet; that he had none of the pleasure 


238 


tom brown’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 


of starting the new crotchets, and didn’t half understand 
them, but had to take the kicks and carry the luggage as 
if he had all the fun ” — he threw lhs legs upon to the sofa, 
and put his hands behind his head, and said: 

“ Well, after all, he’s the mo&t wonderful little fellow I 
ever came across. There ain’t such a meek, humble boy 
in the school. Hanged if 1 don’t think now really, Tom, 
that he believes himself a much worse fellow than you or 1, 
and that he don’t think he has more influence in the house 
than Dot Bowles, who came last quarter, and ain’t ten yet. 
But he turns you and me round his little finger, old boy — 
there’s no mistake about that.” And East nodded at Tom 
sagaciously. 

“ Now or never!” thought Tom; so shutting his eye3 
and hardening bis heart, he went straight at it, repeating 
all that Arthur had said, as near as he could remember it, 
in the very words, and all he had himself thought. The 
life seemed to ooze out of it as he went on, and several 
times he felt inclined to stop, give it all up, and change 
the subject. But somehow lie was borne on; he had a ne- 
cessity upon him to speak it all out and did so. At the end 
he looked at East with some anxiety, and was delighted to 
see that that young gentleman was thoughtful and attent- 
ive. The fact is that in the stage of his inner life at which 
Tom had lately arrived, his intimacy with and friendship 
for East could not have lasted if he had not made him 
aware of, and a sharer in, the thoughts that were beginning 
to exercise him. Nor indeed could the fi iendship have 
lasted if East had shown no symoathy with these thoughts; 
so that it was a great relief to have unbosomed himself, 
and to have found that his friend could listen. 

Tom had always had a sort of instinct that East’s levity 
was only skin deep; and this instinct was a true one. 
East had no want of reverence for anything he felt to be 
real: but his was one of those natures that burst into what 
is generally called recklessness and impiety the moment 
they feel that anything is being poured upon them for their 
good, which does not come home to their inborn sense of 
right, or which appeals to anything like self-interest in 
them. Daring and honest by nature, and outspoken to an 
extent which alarmed all respectabilities, with a constant 
fund of animal health and spirits which he did not feel 
bound to curb in any way, he had gained for himself with 


TOM CROW n’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 239 

the steady part of the school (including as well those who 
wished to appear steady as those who really were so) the 
character of a boy whom it would be dangerous to be inti- 
mate with; while his own hatred of everything cruel, or 
underhand, or false, and his hearty respect for what he 
could see to be good and true, kept off the rest. 

Torn, besides being very like East in many points of 
character, had largely developed in his composition the ca- 
pacity for taking the weakest side. This is not putting it 
‘strongly enough; it was a necessity with him; he couldn’t 
help it any more than he could eating or drinking. He 
could never play on the strongest side with any heart at 
football or cricket, and was sure to make friends with any 
boy who was 'unpopular or down on his luck. 

Now though East was not what is generally called un- 
popular, Tom felt more and more every day, as their 
characters developed, that he stood alone, and did not make 
friends among their contemporaries, and therefore sought 
him out. Tom was himself much more popular, for his 
power of detecting humbug was much less acute, and his 
instincts were much more sociable. He was at this period 
of his life, too, largely given to taking people for what they 
gave themselves out to be; but his singleness of heart, fear- 
lessness and honesty Were just what East appreciated, and 
thus the two had been drawn into greater intimacy. 

This intimacy had not been interrupted by Turn’s guard- 
ianship of Arthur. 

East had often, as has been said, joined them in reading 
the Bible; but their discussions had almost always turned 
upon the characters of the men and women of whom they 
read, and not become personal to themselves. In fact, the 
two had shrunk from personal religious discussion, not 
knowing how it might end; and fearful of risking a friend- 
ship very dear to both, and which they felt somehow, with- 
out quite knowing why, would never be the same, but either 
tenfold stronger or sapped at its foundation, after such a 
communing together. 

What a bother all this explaining is! I wish we could 
get on without it. But we can’t. However, you’ll all 
find, if you haven’t found it out already, that a time comes 
in every human friendship, when you must go down into 
the depths of yourself and lay bare what is there to your 
friend, and wait in fear for his answer. A few moments 


tom brown’s school-days. 


2 10 

may Jo it; and it may be (most likely will be, as you are 
English boys) that you never do it but once. But done it 
must be, if the friendship is to be worth the name. You 
must find what is there, at the very root and bottom of each 
other’s hearts; and if you are at one there, nothing on 
earth can, or at least ought, to sunder you. 

East had remained lying down until Tom finished speak- 
ing, as if fearing to interrupt him; he now sat up at the 
table, and leaned his head on one hand, taking up a pencil 
with the other, and working little holes with it in the table- 
cover. After a bit he looked up, stopped the pencil, and 
said : 

“ Thank you very much, old fellow; there’s no other 
boy in the house would have done it for me but you or 
Arthur. 1 can see well enough,” he went on, after a 
pause, “all the best big fellows look on me with suspicion; 
they think I’m a devil-may-care, reckless young scamp. 
So I am — eleven hours out of twelve — but not the twelfth. 
Then all of our contemporaries worth knowing follow suit, 
of course; we’re very good friends at games and all that, 
but not a soul of them but you and Arthur ever tried to 
break through the crust, and see whether there was any- 
thing at the bottom of me; and then the bad ones I won’t 
stand, and they know that.” 

“ Don’t you think that’s half fancy, Harry?” 

“Not a bit of it,” said East, bitterly, pegging away 
with his pencil. “I see it all plain enough. Bless you, 
you think everybody’s as straightforward and kind-hearted 
as you are.” 

“ Well, but what's the reason of it? There must be a 
reason. You can play all the games as well as any one, 
and sing the best songs, and are the best company in the 
house. You fancy you’re not liked, Harry. It’s all 
fancy.” 

“ I only wish it was, Tom. 1 know I could be popular 
enough with all the bad ones, but that I won’t have, and 
the good ones won’t have me.” 

“Why not?” persisted Tom; “you don’t drink or 
swear, or get out at night; you never bully, or cheat at 
lessons. If you only showed you liked it, you’d have all 
the best fellows in the house running after you.” 

“ Not I,” said East. Then with an effort he went on, 
4 I’ll tell you what it is. I never stop the sacrament. I 


tom browns school-days. 241 

can see, from the doctor downward, how that tells against 
me.” 

“ Yes, I’ve seen that,” said Tom, “ and I’ve been very 
sorry for it, and Arthur and I have talked about it. I’ve 
often thought of speaking to you, but it’s so hard to begin 
on such subjects. I’m very glad you’ve opened it. Now, 
why don’t you?” 

“ I’ve never been confirmed,” said East. 

“■Not been confirmed?” said Tom, in astonishment. 
“ I never thought of that. Why weren’t you confirmed 
with the rest of us nearly three years ago? 1 always 
thought you’d been confirmed at home.” 

“ Mo,” answered East, 'sorrowfully; “ you see, this was 
how it happened. Last confirmation was soon after Arthur 
came, and you were so taken up with him, 1 hardly saw 
either of you. Well, when the doctor sent round for us 
about it, 1 was living mostly with Green’s set — you know 
the sort. They all went in — I dare say it was all right, 
and they got good by it; I don’t want to judge them. 
Only all I could see of their reasons drove me just the 
other way. ’Twas ‘ because the doctor liked it;’ ‘ no boy 
got on who didn’t stay the sacrament;’ ‘ it was the correct 
thing,’ in fact, like having a good hat to wear on Sundays. 
I couldn’t stand it. 1 didn’t feel that 1 wanted to lead a 
different life, I was very well content as 1 was, and 1 
wasn’t going to sham religious to curry favor with the doc- 
tor or any one else.” 

East stopped speaking, and pegged away more diligent- 
ly than ever with his pencil. Tom was ready to cry. He 
felt half sorry at first that he had been confirmed himself. 
He seemed to have deserted his earliest friend, to have left 
him by himself at his worst need for those long years. He 
got up and went and sat by East and put his arm over his 
shoulder. 

“ Dear old boy,” he said, “ how careless and selfish I’ve 
been. But why didn’t you. come and talk to Arthur and 
me?” 

“I wish to Heaven 1 had!” said East; “but I was a 
fool. It’s too late talking of it now.” 

“ Why too late? You want to be confirmed now, don’t 
you?” 

“ 1 think so,” said East. “I’ve thought about it a 
good deal; only often I fancy 1 must be changing, because 


242 TOM bkown’s school-oats. 

1 see it’s to do me goad here, just what stopped me last 
time. And then I go back again.” 

“ I’ll tell you now how ’twas with me,” said Tom, warm- 
ly. “ If it hadn’t been for Arthur, 1 should have done just as 
you did. I hope I should. 1 honor you for it. But then 
he made it out just as if it was taking the weak side before 
all the world. — going in once for all against everything 
that’s strong and rich and proud and respectable, a little 
band of brothers against the whole world. And the doctor 
seemed to say so too, only he said a great deal more.” 

“ Ah!” groaned East, “ but there again, that’s just an- 
other of my difficulties whenever I think about the matter. 
I don’t want to be one of your saints, one of your elect, 
whatever the right phrase is. My sympathies are all the 
other way; with the many, the poor devils who run about 
the streets and don’t go to church. Don’t stare, Tom; 
mind. I’m telling you all that’s in my heart — as far as I 
know it — but it’s ail a muddle. You must be gentle with 
me if you want to land me. Now I’ve seen a deal of this 
sort of religion; I was bred up in it, and I can’t stand it. 
If nineteen twentieths of the world are to be left to un- 
covenanted mercies, and that sort of thing, which means 
in plain English to go to hell, and the other twentieths are 
to rejoice at it all, why — ” 

“ Oh! but, Harry, they ain’t, they don’t,” broke in 
Tom, really shocked. “Oh! I wish Arthur hadn’t gone. 
I’m such a fool about these things. But it’s all you want 
too, East, it is indeed. It cuts both ways somehow, being 
confirmed and taking the sacrament. It makes you feel 
on the side of all the good and all the bad, too, of every- 
body in the world. Only there’s some great dark strong 
power which is crushing you and everybody else. That’s 
what Christ conquered, and we’ve got to fight. What a 
fool I am! I can’t explain. If Arthur were only here!” 

“ 1 begin to get a glimmering of what you mean,’ said 
East. 

“ 1 say now,” said Tom, eagerly, “ do you remember 
how we both hated Flashman?” 

“ Of course I do,” said East; “ 1 hate him still. What 
then?” 

“ Well, when I came to take the sacrament, 1 had a 
great struggle about that. 1 tried to put him out of my 
head; and when I couldn’t do that, 1 tried to think of him 


TOM brown’s school-days. 245 

as evil, as something that the Lord who was loving me 
hated, and which I might hale too. But it wouldn’t do. 
1 broke down; I believe Christ Himself broke me down; 
and when the doctor gave me the bread and wine, and 
leaned over me praying, I prayed for poor Flashrnan, as if 
it had been you or Arthur.” 

East buried his face in his hands on the table. Tom 
could feel the table tremble. At last he looked up. 

“ Thank you again, Tom,” said he; “ you don’t know 
what you may have done for me to-night. I think I see 
now how the right sort of sympathy with poor devils is got 
at.” 

“ And you’ll stop to the sacrament next time, won’t 
you?” said Tom. 

“ Can I, before I’m confirmed?” 

“ Go and ask the doctor.” 

“ I will.” 

That very night after prayers, East followed the doctor, 
and the old verger bearing the candle, upstairs. Tom 
watched, and saw the doctor turn round when he heard 
footsteps following him closer than usual, and say: 

“ Hah, East! I)o you want to speak with me, my man?” 

“ If you please, sir;” and the private door closed and 
Tom went to his study in a state of great trouble of mind. 

It was almost an hour before East came back; then he 
rushed in breathless. 

“ Well, it’s all right,” he shouted, seizing Tom by the 
hand. “ 1 feel as if a ton weight were off my mind.” 

“ Hurrah!” said Tom. “ I knew it would be; but tell 
us all about it?” 

“ Well, I just told him all about it. You can’t think 
how kind and gentle he was, the great grim man, whom 
I’ve feared more than anybody on earth. When I stuck, 
he lifted me, just as if I had been a little child. And he 
seemed to know all I’d felt, and to have gone through it 
all. And I burst out crying— more than I’ve done this 
five years; and he sat down by me, and stroked my head; 
and I went blundering on, and told him all; much worse 
things than I’ve told you. And he wasn’t shocked a bit, 
and didn’t snub me, or tell me I was a fool, and it was all 
nothing but pride or wickedness, though 1 dare say it was. 
And he didn’t tell me not to follow out my thoughts, and 
he didn’t give me any cut-and-dried explanation. But 


244 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


when I'd done he just talked a bit — I can hardly remember 
what he said yet; but it seemed to spread round me like 
healing, and strength, and light; and to bear me up, and 
plant me on a rock, where I could hold my footing, and 
light for myself. I don’t know what to do, I feel so hap- 
py. And it’s all owing to you, dear old boy!” and he 
seized Tom’s hand again. 

“ And you’re to come to the communion?” said Tom. 

“ Yes, and to be confirmed in the holidays.” 

Tom’s delight was as great as his friend’s. But he 
hadn’t yet had out all his own talk and was bent on im- 
proving the occasion; so he proceeded to propound Arthur’s 
theory about not being sorry for his friends’ deaths, which 
he had hitherto kept in the background, and by which he 
was much exercised; for he didn’t feel it honest to take 
what pleased him and throw over the rest, and was trying 
vigorously to persuade himself that he should like all his 
best friends to die off-hand. 

But East’s powers of remaining serious were exhausted, 
and in five minutes he was saying the most ridiculous things 
he could think of, till Tom was almost getting angry 
again. 

Despite of himself, however, he couldn’t help laughing 
and giving it up, when East appealed to him with. 

“ Well, Tom, you ain’t going to punch my head, I hope, 
because I insist upon being sorry when you got to earth?” 

And so their talk finished for that time, and they tried 
to learn first lesson; with very poor success, as appeared 
next morning, when they were called up and narrowly 
escaped being floored, which ill-luck, however, did not sit 
heavily on either of their souls. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

TOM BROWN’S LAST MATCH. 

Heaven grant the manlier hearts, that timely, ere 
Youth fly, with life’s real tempest would he coping; 

The fruit of dreamy hoping 
Is, waking, blank despair. 

Clough. Ambarvab’a. 

The curtain now rises upon the last act of our little drama 
— for hard-hearted publishers warn me that a single volume 
must of necessity have an end. Well, well! the pleasantest 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


215 


things must come to an end. I little thought last long 
vacation, when 1 began these pages to help while 
away some spare time at a watering-place, how vividly 
many an old scene, which had lain hid away for years in 
some dusty old corner of my brain, would come back again 
and stand before me as clear and bright as if it had hap- 
pened } r esterday. The book has been a moist grateful task 
to me, and I only hope that all you, my dear young friends, 
who read it (friends assuredly you must bo, if you get as 
far as this), will be half as sorry to come to the last stage 
as I am. 

Not but what there has been a solemn ard a sad side to 
it. As the old scenes became living, and the actors in 
them became living too, many a grave in the Crimea and 
distant India, as well as in the quiet church-yards of our 
dear old country, seemed to open and send forth their 
dead, aud their voices and looks and ways were again in 
one’s ears and eyes, as in the old school-days. But this 
was not sad; how should it be, if we believe as our Lord haa 
taught us? How should it be, when, one more turn of the 
wheel, and we shall be by their sides again, learning from 
them again, perhaps, as we did when we were new boys? 

Then there were others of the old faces so dear to us 
once, who had somehow or another just gone clean out of 
sight — are they dead or living? We know not, but the 
thought of them brings no sadness with it. Wherever they 
are, we can well believe they are doing God ’s work and 
getting His wages. 

But are there not some, whom we still see sometimes in 
the streets, whose haunts and homes we know, whom we 
could probably find almost any dav in the week if we were 
set to do it, yet from whom we really further than we 
are from the dead, and from those who have gone out of 
cur ken? Yes, there are aud must be such; and therein 
lies the sadness of old school memories. Yet of these, our 
old comrades, from whom more than time and space can 
separate us, there are some by whose side we can feel sure 
that we shall stand again when time shall be no more. We 
may think of one another now as dangerous fanatics or 
narrow bigots, with whom no truce is possible, from whom 
we shall only sever more and more to the end of our lives, 
whom it would be our respective duties to imprison or 
hang, if we had the po ^er. We must go our way, and 


246 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


they theirs, as long as flesh and spirit hold together; but 
let our own Rugby poet speak words of healing for this 
trial : 

“ To veer how vain! on, onward strain, 

Brave barks! in light, in darkness too; 

Through winds and tides one compass guides, 

To that, and your own selves, be true. 

“ But, oh, blithe breeze! and oh, great seasl 
Though ne’er that earliest parting past. 

On your wide plain they join again, 

Together lead them home at last. 

“ One port, methought, alike they sought. 

One purpose hold where’er they fare. 

Oh, bounding breeze! oh, rushing seas! 

At last, at last, unite them there.”* 

This is not mere longing, it is prophecy. So over these, 
too, our old friends who are friends no more, we sorrow 
not as men without hope. It is only for those who seem 
to us to have lost compass and purpose, and to be driven 
helplessly on rocks and quicksands; whose lives are spent 
in the service of the world, the flesh, and the devil; for 
self alone, and not for their fellow-men, their country, or 
their God, that we must mourn and pray without sure 
hope and without light; trusting only that He, in whose 
hands they as well as we are, who has died for them as 
well as for us, who sees all His creatures 

“ With larger, other eyes than ours, 

To ma/.e allowance for us all,” 

will, in His own way and at His own time, lead them also 
home. 

* * * * * * * 
Another two years have passed, and it is again the end 
of the summer half year at Rugby; in fact, the school has 
broken up. The fifth-form examinations were over last 
week, and upon them have followed the speeches and the 
sixth-form examinations for exhibitions; and they too ate 
over now. The boys have gone to all the winds of heaven, 
except the town boys and the eleven, and the few euthu i- 
asts besides who have asked leave to slay in tn-.r houses 
to see the result of the cricket-matches. For this year the 

* Clpugu. 4 mbarvqliq. 




TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 

Wellesburn return match and the Marylebone match are 
played at Rugby, to the great delight of the town and 
neighborhood, and the sorrow of those aspiring young 
cricketers who have been reckoning for the last three 
months on showing off at Lord’s ground. 

The doctor started for the Lakes yesterday morning, 
after an interview with the captain of the eleven, in the 
presence of Thomas, at which he arranged in what school 
the cricket dinners were to be, and all other matters neces- 
sary for the satisfactory carrying out of the festivities; and 
warned them as to keeping all spirituous liquors out of the 
close, and having the gates closed by nine o’clock. 

The Wellesburn malch was played out with great success 
yesterday, the school winning by three wickets; and to-day 
the great event of the cricketing year, the Marylebone 
match, is being played. What a match it has been! The 
London eleven came down by an afternoon train yesterday, 
in time to see the end of the Wellesburn match; and as 
soon as it was over, their leading men and umpire inspected 
the ground, criticising it rather unmercifully. The captain 
<of the school eleven, and one or two others, who had played 
the Lord’s mabh before, and knew old Mr. Aislabie and 
several of the Lord’s men, accompanied them; while the 
rest of the eleven looked on from under the three trees with 
admiring eyes, and asked one another the names of the 
illustrious strangers, and recounted how many runs each 
of them had made in the late matches in “ Bell’s Life.” 
They looked such hard-bitten, wiry, whiskered fellows, 
that their young adversaries felt rather desponding as to 
the result of the morrow’s match. The ground was at last 
chosen, and two men set to work upon it to water and roll; 
and then, there being yet some half hour of daylight, some 
one had suggested a dance on the turf. The close was half 
full of citizens and their families, and the idea was hailed 
with enthusiasm. The cornopean-player was still on the 
ground; and in five minutes the eleven and half a dozen of 
the Wellesburn and Marylebone men got partners somehow 
or another, and a merry country-dance was going on, to 
which every one flocked, and new couples joined in every 
minute, till there were a hundred of them going down the 
middle and up again — and the long line of school build- 
ings looked gravely down on them, every window glowing 
with the last rays of the western sun, and the rooks clanged 


248 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


about In the tops of the old elms, greatly excited, and re 
solved on having their country-dance too, and the great 
flag flapped lazily in the gentle western breeze. Altogether 
it was a sight which would have made glad the heart of our 
brave old founder, Lawrence Sheriff, if he were half as 
good a fellow as I take him to have been. It was a cheer- 
ful sight to see; but what made it so valuable in the sight 
of the captain of the school eleven was, that he there saw 
his young hands shaking off their shyness and awe of the 
Lord’s men, as they crossed hands and capered about on the 
grass together; for the strangers entered into it all, and 
threw away their cigars, and danced and shouted like boys; 
while old Mr. Aislabie stood by looking on in his white 
hat, leaning on a bat, in benevolent enjoyment. 

“ This hop will be worth thirty runs to us to-morrow, 
and will be the making of Haggles and Johnson,” thinks 
the young leader, as he revolves many things in his mind, 
standing by the side of Mr. Aislabie, whom he will not 
leave fora minute, for he feels that (he character of the 
school for courtesy is resting on his shoulders. 

But when a quarter to nine struck, and he saw old 
Thomas beginning to fidget about with the keys in his 
hand, he thought of the doctor’s parting monition, and 
stopped the cornopean at once, notwithstanding the loud- 
voiced remonstrances from all sides, and the crowd scat- 
tered away from the close, the eleven all going into the 
school-house, where supper and beds were provided for 
them by the doctor’s orde:. 

Deep had been the consultations at supper as to the order 
of going in, who should bowl the first over, whether it 
would be best to play steady or freely ; ( and the youngest 
hands declared that they shouldn’t be a bit nervous, and 
praised their opponents as the joiliest fellows in the world, 
except perhaps their old friends the Wellesburu men. flow 
far a little good-nature from their elders will go with the 
right sort of boys! 

The morning had dawned bright and warm, to the in - 
tense relief of many an anxious youngster, up betimes tc 
mark the signs of the weather. The eleven went down in 
a body before breakfast for a plunge in the cold bath in 
the corner of the close. The ground was in splendid order, 
and soon after ten o’clock, before spectators had arrived, 
all was ready, and two of the Lord’s men took their places 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


249 


at the wicket, the school, with the usual liberality of young 
hands, having put their adversaries in first. Old Bailey 
stepped up to the wicket and called play, and the match 
has begun. 

* ~ * * * * * * 

“Oh, well bowled! well bowled, Johnson!” cries the 
captain, catching up the ball and sending it high above the 
rook-trees, while the third Marylebone man walks away 
from the wicket, and old Bailey gravely sets up the middle 
stump again and puts the bails on. 

“ How many runs?” 

Away scamper three boys to the scoring-table, and are 
back again in a minute among the rest of the eleven, who 
are collected together in a knot between wicket. 

“ Only eighteen runs, and three wickets down!” 

“Huzza, for old Rugby!” sings out Jack Haggles, the 
long-stop, toughest and burliest of boys, commonly called 
“ Swiper Jack,” and forthwith stands on his head, and 
brandishes his legs in the air in triumph, till the next boy 
catches hold of his heels, and throws him over on to his 
back. 

“ Steady there, don’t be such an ass. Jack,” says the 
captain; “ we haven’t got the best wicket yet. Ah, look 
out now at cover-point!” adds he, as he sees a long-armed, 
bare-headed, slashing-looking player coming to the wicket. 
“ And, Jack, mind your hits; he steals more runs than 
any man in England.” 

And they all find that they have got their work to do 
now; the new-comer’s off-hitting is tremendous, and his 
running like a flash of lightning. He is never in his 
ground, except when his wicket is down. Nothing in the 
whole game so trying to boys; he has stolen three byes in 
the first ten minutes, and Jack Haggles is furious, and be- 
gins throwing over savagely to the further wicket, until he 
is sternly stopped by the captain. It is all that young 
gentleman can do to keep his team steady, but he kno ws 
that everything depends on it, and faces his work bravely. 
The score creeps up to fifty, the boys begin to look blank, 
and the spectators, who are mustering strong, are very 
silent. The ball flies off his bat to all parts of the field, 
and he gives no rest and no catches to any one. But cricket 
is full of glorious chances, and the goddess who presides 
over it loves to bring down the most skillful players. Johm 


250 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


son, the young bowler, is getting wild, and bowls a ball 
almost wide to the off; the batter steps out and cuts it 
beautifully to where cover-point is standing very deep, in 
fact almost off the ground. The ball comes skimming and 
twisting along about three feet from the ground; he rushes 
at it, and it sticks somehow or other in the fingers of his 
left hand, to the utter astonishment of himself and the 
whole field. Such a catch hasn’t been made in the close 
for years, and the cheering is maddening. 

“ Pretty cricket,” says the captain, throwing himself on 
the ground by the deserted wicket with a long breath; he 
fa 1 ].- that a crisis has passed. 

I ,vi h I had space to describe the whole match; how the 
>aptuiu stumped the next man off a leg-shooter, and bowled 
plow lobs to old Mr. Aislabie, who came in for the last 
wicket. How the Lord’s men were out by half past twelve 
o'clock for ninety-eight runs. How the captain of the 
school eleven went in first to give his men pluck, and 
scored twenty-five in beautiful style; how Rugby was only 
fqur behind in the first innings. What a glorious dinner 
they had in the fourth-form school, and how the cover- 
point hitter sung the most topping comic songs, and old 
Mr. Aislabie made the best speeches that ever were heard, 
afterward. But I haven’t space, that’s the fact, and so 
you must fancy it all, and carry yourselves on to half past 
seven o’clock, when the school are again in, with five 
wickets down and only thirty-two runs to make to win. 
The Marylebone men played carelessly in their second in- 
nings, but they are working like horses now to save the 
match. 

There is much healthy, hearty, happy life scattered up 
and down the close; but the group to which I beg to call 
your especial attention is there, on the slope of the island, 
which looks toward the cricket-ground. It consists of 
three figures; two are seated on a bench, and one on the 
ground at their feet. The first, a tall, slight, and rather 
gaunt man with a bushy eyebrow and a dry, humorous 
smile, is evidently a clergyman. He is carelessly dressed, 
and looks rather used up, which isn’t much to be wondered 
at, seeing that he has just finished six weeks of examina- 
tion work; but there he basks, and spreads himself out in 
the evening sun, bent on enjoying life, though he doesn’t 
quite know what to do with his arms and legs. Surely it 


TOM BROW-N'S SCHOOL- DATS. 25 1 

is our friend ilie young master, whom we have had glimpses 
of before, but his face has gained a great deal since we 
last came across him. 

And by his side, in white flannel shirt and trousers, 
straw hat, the captain’s belt, and the untanned yellow 
cricket-shoes which all the eleven wear, sits a strapping 
figure, near six feet high, with ruddy-tanned face and 
whiskers, curly brown hair, and a laughing, dancing eye. 
He is leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, 
and dandling his favorite bat, with which he has made 
thirty or forty runs to-day, in his strong brown hands. It 
is Tom Brown, grown into a young man nineteen years 
old, a praepostor and captain of the eleven, spending his 
last day as a Iiugby boy, and let us hope as much wiser as 
he is bigger, since we last had the pleasure of coming 
across him. 

And at their feet on the warm, dry ground, similarly 
dressed, sits Arthur, Turkish fashion, with his bat across 
his knees. He too is no longer a boy, less of a boy in fact 
than Tom, if one may judge from the thoughtfulness of 
his face, which is somewhat paler, too, than one could 
wish; but his figure, though slight, is well knit and active, 
and all his old timidity has disappeared, and is replaced by 
silent, quaint fun, with which his face twinkles all over, 
as he listens to the broken talk between the other two, in 
which he joins every now and then. 

All three are watching the game eagerly, and joining in 
the cheering which follows every good bit. It is pleasing 
to see the easy friendly footing which the pupils are on 
with their master, perfectly respectful, yet with no reserve 
and nothing forced in their intercourse. Tom has clearly 
abandoned the old theory of “natural enemies” in this 
case at any rate. 

But it is time to listen to what they are saying, and see 
what we can gather out of it. 

“ I don’t object to your theory,” says the master, “ and 
I allow you have made a fair case for yourself. But now, 
in such books as Aristophanes, for instance, you’ve been 
reading a play th s half with the doctor, haven’t you?” 

“ Yes, the”‘ Knights,’ ” answered Tom. 

“ Well, I’m sure you would have enjoyed the wonderful 
humor of it twice as much if you had taken more pains 
with your scholarship.” 


252 


TOM BROWN ? S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“ Well, sir, 1 don’t believe any boy in the form enjoyed 
the sets-to between Cleon and the Sausage-seller more than 
I did — eh, Arthur?” said Tom, giving him a stir with his 
foot. 

“ Yes, I must say he did,” said Arthur. “ I think, 
sir, you’ve hit upon the wrong book there.” 

“ Not a bit of it,” said the master. “ Why, in those 
very passages of arms, how can you thoroughly appreciate 
them unless you are master of the weapons? and the wea- 
})ons are the language which you. Brown, have never half 
worked at; and so, as I say, you must have lost all the 
delicate shades of meaning which make the best part of 
the fun. ” 

“ Oh! well played — bravo, Johnson!” shouted Arthur, 
dropping his hat and clapping furiously, and Tom joined 
in with a “Bravo, Johnson!” which might have been 
heard at the chapel. 

“ Eh! what was it? 1 didn’t see,” inquired the master; 
“ they only got one run, I thought?” 

No, but such a ball, three quarters length and coming 
straight for his leg-bail. Nothing but that turn of the 
wrist could have saved him, and he drew it away to leg for 
a safe one. Bravo, Johnson!” 

“ How well they are bowling, though!” said Arthur; 
“ they don’t mean to beat, 1 can see.” 

“ There now,” struck in the master, “ you see that’s 
just what I have been preaching this half hour. The deli- 
cate play is the true thing. I don’t understand cricket, 
so I don’t enjoy those fine draws which you tell me are the 
best plays, though when you or Haggles hit a ball hard away 
for six I am as delighted as any one. Don’t you see the 
analogy?” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Tom, looking up roguishly, “ 1 
see; only the question remains whether 1 should have got 
most good by understanding Greek particles or cricket 
thoroughly. I’m such a thick, I never should have had 
time for both.” 

“I see you are an incorrigible,” said the master, with a 
chuckle; “ but I refute you by an example. Arthur there 
has taken in Greek and cricket too.” 

_ “ Yes, but no thanks to him; Greek came natural to 
him. Why, when he first came I remember he used to 
read Herodotus for pleasure as I did Don Quixote, and 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA VS. 


85a 

couldn’t have made si false concord if he’d tried ever so 
hard— and then 1 looked after his cricket.” 

“ Out! Bailey has given him out — do you see, Tom?” 
cries Arthur. “ How foolish of them to run so hard!” 

“Well, it can’t be helped, he has played very well. 
Whose turn is it to go in?” 

“ 1 don’t know; they’ve got your list in the tent.” 

“ Let’s go and see,” said Tom, rising; but at this mo- 
ment Jack Haggles and two or three more came running to 
the island moat. 

“ Oh, Brown, mayn’t I go in next?” shouts the S wiper. 

“ Whose name is next on the list?” says the captain. 

“ Winter’s, and then Arthur’s,” answers the boy who 
carries it; “ but there are only twenty-six runs to get, and 
no time to lose. I heard Mr. Aislabie say that the stumps 
must be drawn at a quarter past eight exactly.” 

“ Oh, do let the Swiper go in!” chorus the boys; so 
Tom yields against his better judgment. 

“ 1 dare say now I’ve lost the match by this nonsense,” 
he says, as he sits dow r n again; “they’ll be sure to get 
Jack’s wicket in three or four minutes; however, you’ll 
have the chance, sir, of seeing a hard hit or two,” adds 
he, smiling, and turning to the master. 

“ Come, none of your irony. Brown,” answers the mas- 
ter. “ I’m beginning to understand the game scientific- 
ally. What a noble game it is too!” 

“ Isn’t it? But it’s more than a game — it’s an institu- 
tion,” said Tom. 

“ Yes,” said Arthur, “the birthright of British boys, 
old and young, as habeas corpus and trial by jury are of 
British men.” 

“ The discipline and reliance on one another which it 
teaches is so valuable, I think,” went on the master, “ it 
ought to be such an unselfish game. It merges the indi- 
vidual in the eleven; he doesn’t play that he may win, but 
that his side may. ” 

“ That’s very true,” said Tom, “ and that’s why foot- 
ball and cricket, now one comes to think of it, are so much 
better games than fives’, or hare-and -hounds, or any others 
where the object is to come in first or to win for one’s self, 
and not that one’s side may win.” 

“ And then the captain of the eleven!” said the master, 
“ what a post is his in our school- world! almost as hard as 


254 : 


TOM brown's school-bats. 


the doctor's; requiring skill and gentleness and firmness, 
and I know not what other rare qualities.” 

“ Which don’t he wish he may get?" said Tom, laugh- 
ing; •“ at any rate he hasn’t got them yet, or he wouldn’t 
have been such a fiat to-night as to Jet Jack Haggles go in 
out of his turn. ” 

“ Ah! the doctor never would have done that,” said 
Arthur, demurely. “ Tom, you’ve a great deal to learn 
yet in the art of ruling.” 

“ Well, I wish you’d tell the doctor ’so, then, and get 
him to let me stop till I’m twenty. 1 don’t want to leave. 
I’m sure.” 

“ What a sight it is,” broke in the master, “ the doctor 
as a ruler. Perhaps ours is the only little corner of the 
British Empire which is thoroughly, wisely, and strongly 
ruled just now. I’m more and more thankful every day 
of my life that I came here to be under him.” 

“ So am I, I’m sure,” said Tom; “ and more and more 
sorry that I’ve got to leave.” 

# “ Every place and thing one sees here reminds one of 

some wise act of his,” went on the master. “ This island 
now— you remember the time, Brown, when it was laid out 
in small gardens, and cultivated by frost-bitten fags in 
February and March?” 

“ Of course 1 do,” said Tom; “ didn’t 1 hate spending 
two hours in the afternoons grubbing in the tough dirt with 
the stump of a fives’-bat? But turf-cart was good fun 
enough.” 

“ I dare say it was, but it was always leading to fights 
with the towns-people; and then the stealing flowers out of 
all the gardens in Rugby for the Easter show was abomin- 
able.” 

“ Well, so it was,” said Tom, looking down, “ but we 
fags couldn’t help ourselves. But what has that to do with 
the doctor’s ruling?” 

“ A great deal, I think,” said the master; “ what 
brought island fagging to an end?” 

“ Why, the Easter speeches were put off till midsum- 
mer,” said Tom, “ and the sixth had the gymnastic poles 
put up here.” 

“ Well, and who changed the time of the speeches, and 
put the idea of gymnastic poles in the heads of their wor- 
ships, the sixth-form?” said the master. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


£55 


4 ‘ The doctor, I suppose,” said Tom. “ I never thought 
of that.” 

“ Of course you didn’t,” said the master, “ or else, fag 
as you were, you would have shouted with the whole school 
against putting down old customs. And that’s the way 
that all the doctor’s reforms have been carried out when he 
has been left to himself — quietly and naturally, putting a 
good thing in the place of a bad, and letting the bad die 
out; no wavering and no hurry — the best thing that could 
be done for the time being, and patience for the rest.” 

“Just Tom’s own way,” chimed in Arthur, nudging 
Tom with his elbow, “ driving a nail where it will go;” to 
which allusion Tom answered by a sly kick. 

“ Exactly so,” said the master, innocent of the allusion 
and by-play. 

Meantime Jack Raggles, with his sleeves tucked up above 
his great brown elbows, scorning pads and gloves, has pre- 
sented himself at the wicket; and having run one for a for- 
ward drive of Johnson’s, is about to receive his first ball. 
There are only twenty-four runs to make, and four wickets 
to go down; a winning match if they play decently steady. 
The ball is a very swift one, and rises fast, catching Jack 
on the outside of the thigh, and bounding away as if from 
India-rubber, while they run two for a leg-bye amid great 
applause, and shouts from Jack’s many admirers. The 
next ball is a beautifully pitched ball for the outer stump, 
which the reckless and unfeeling Jack catches hold of, and 
hits right round to leg for five, while the applause becomes 
deafening: only seventeen runs to get with four wickets — 
the game is all but ours! 

It is “ over ” now, and Jack walks swaggering about his 
wicket, with the bat over his shoulder, while Mr. Aislabie 
holds a short parley with his men. Then the cover-point 
hitter, that cunning man, goes on to bowl slow twisters. 
Jack waves his hand triumphantly toward the tent, as 
much as to say, “ See if I don’t finish it all off now in three 
hits.” 

Alas! my son Jack! the enemy is too old for thee. The 
first ball of the over Jack steps out and meets, swiping with 
all his force. If he had only allowed for the twist! but he 
hasn’t, and so the ball goes spinning up straight into the 
air, as if it would never come down again. Away runs 
Jack shouting and trusting to the chapter of accidents; but 


TOM BROWN ? S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


356 

the bowler runs steadily under it, judging every spin, and 
jailing out, “ I have it,” catches it, and playfully pitches 
it on to the back of the stalwart Jack, who is departing 
with a rueful countenance. 

“ I knew how it would be,” says Tom, rising. “ Come 
along, the game’s getting very serious.” 

So they leave the island and go to the tent, and, after 
deep consultation, Arthur is sent in, and goes off to the 
wicket with a last exhortation from Tom to play steady and 
keep his bat straight. To the suggestion that Winter is 
the best bat left, Tom only replies: 

“ Arthur is the steadiest, and Johnson will make the runs 
if the wicket is only kept up.” 

“ 1 am surprised to see Arthur in the eleven,” said the 
master, as they stood together in front of the dense crowd, 
which was now closing in round the ground. 

“ Well, I’m not quite sure that he ought to be in for his 
play,” said Tom, 44 but I couldn’t help putting him in. It 
will do him so much good, and you can’t think what 1 owe 
him.” 

The master smiled. The clock strikes eight, and the 
whole field becomes fevered with excitement. Arthur, 
after two narrow escapes, scores one; and Johnson gets the 
ball. The bowling and fielding are superb, and Johnson’s 
batting worth the occasion. He makes here a two, and 
there a one managing to keep the ball to himself, and 
Arthur backs up and runs perfectly; only eleven runs to 
make now, and the crowd scarcely breathe. At last Arthur 
gets the ball again, and actually drives it forward for two, 
and feels prouder than when he got the three best prizes, 
at hearing Tom’s shout of joy, 44 Well played, well played, 
young ’un!” 

But the next ball is too much for a young hand, and his 
bails fiy different ways. Nine runs to make, and two wick- 
ets to go down — it is too much for human nerves. 

Before Winter can get in, the omnibus which is to take 
the Lord’s men to the train pulls up at the side of the close 
and Mr. Aislabie and Tom consult, and give out that the 
stumps will be drawn after the next over. And so ends 
the great match. Winter and Johnson carry out their 
bats, and, it being a one day’s match, the Lord’s men are 
declared the winners, they having scored the most in the 
first innings. 


TOM BltOWN’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 


25 ? 


But such a defeat is a victory; so think Tom and all the 
school eleven, as they accompany their conquerors to the 
omnibus, and send them off with three ringing cheers, 
after Mr. Aislabie has shaken hands all round, saying to 
Tom: 

4 4 1 must compliment you, sir, on your eleven, and l 
hope we shall have you for a member if you come up to 
town." 

As Tom and the rest of the eleven were turning back 
into the close, and everybody was beginning to cry out for 
another country-dance, encouraged bv* the success of the 
night before, the young master, who was just leaving the 
close, stopped him, and asked him to come up to tea at half 
past eight, adding: 

“ 1 won’t keep you more than half an hour, and ask 
Arthur to come up too." 

“ I’ll come up with you directly, if you’ll let me," said 
Tom, “ for I feel rather melancholy, and not quite up to 
the country-dance and supper with the rest." 

“ Do by all means," said the master; “ I’ll wait here 
for you." 

So Tom went off to get his boots and things from the 
tent, to tell Arthur of the invitation, and to speak to his 
second in command about stopping the dancing and shut- 
ting up the close as soon as it grew dusk. Arthur prom- 
ised to follow as soon as he had had a dance. So Tom 
handed his things over to the man in charge of the tent, 
and walked quietly away to the gate where the master was 
waiting, and the two took their way together up the Hill- 
morton Road. 

Of course they found the master’s house locked up, and 
all the servants away in the close, about this time no doubt 
footing it away on the grass with extreme delight to them- 
selves, and in utter oblivion of the unfortunate bachelor, 
their master, whose one enjoyment in the shape of meals 
was his 44 dish of tea " (as our grandmothers called it) in 
the evening; and the phrase was apt in his case, for he al- 
ways poured his out into the saucer before drinking. Great 
was the good man’s horror at finding himself shut out of 
his own house. Had he been alone, he would have treated 
it as a matter of course, and would have strolled content- 
edly up and down his gravel-walk until some one came 
home; but he was hyjfifc at the stain on his character of 


258 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


host, especially as the guest was a pupil. However, the 
guest seemed to think it a great joke, and presently as they 
poked about round the house, mounted a wall, from which 
he could reach a passage wmdow; the window, as it turned 
out, was not bolted, so in another minute Tom was in the 
house and down at the front door, which he opened from 
inside. The master chuckled grimly at this burglarious 
entry, and insisted on leaving the hall door and two of the 
front windows open, to frighten the truants on their re- 
turn; and then the two set about foraging for tea, in 
which operation the master was much at fault, having the 
faintest possible idea where to find anything, and being 
moreover wondrously short-sighted, but Tom by a sort of 
instinct knew the right cupboards in the kitchen and 
pantry, and soon managed to place on the snuggery table 
better materials for a meal than had appeared there prob- 
ably during the reign of his tutor, who was then and there 
initiated, among other things, into the excellence of that 
mysterious condiment, a dripping-cake. The cake was newly 
baked, and all rich and flaky; Tom had found it reposing 
in the cook's private cupboard, awaiting her return; arid 
as a warning to her, they finished it to the last crumb. 
The kettle sung away merrily on the hob of the snuggery, 
for notwithstanding the time of year, they lighted a fire, 
throwing both the windows wide open at the same time. 
The heap of books and papers was pushed away to the other 
end of the table, and the great solitary engraving of 
“ King’s College Chapel ” over the mantel-piece looked 
less stiff than usual, as they settled themselves down in the 
twilight to the serious drinking of tea. 

After some talk on the match, and other indifferent sub- 
jects, the conversation came naturally back to Tom’s ap- 
proaching departure, over which he began again to make 
his moan. 

“ Well, we shall all miss you quite as much as you will 
miss us,” said the master. “You are the Nestor of the 
school now, are you not?” 

“ Yes, ever since East left,” answered Tom. 

“ By the bye, have you heard from him?” 

“ Yes, I had a letter in February, just before he started 
for India to join his regiment.” 

“ He wili make a capital officer.” 

41 Ay, won’t he!” said Tom, brightening; “no fellow 


TOM brown’s school-bays. 


259 


could handle boys better, and 1 suppose soldiers are very 
like boys. And he’ll never tell them to go where he won’t 
go himself. No mistake about that — a braver fellow never 
walked.” 

“ His year in the sixth will have taught him a good dea T 
that will be useful to him now.” 

“So it will,’’ said Tom, staring into the fire. “ Poor, 
dear Harry,” he went on, “ how well I remember the day 
we were put out of the twenty. How he rose to the situ- 
ation, and burned his cigar-cases, and gave away his pistols, 
and pondered on the constitutional authority of the sixth, 
and his new duties to the doctor, and the fifth form, and 
the fags. Ay, and no fellow ever acted up to them better, 
though he was always a people’s man — for the fags, and 
against constituted authorities. He couldn’t help that, 
you know. I’m sure the doctor must have liked him?” 
said Tom, looking up inquiringly. 

“ The doctor sees the good in every one, and appreciates 
it,” said the master, dogmatically; “ but I hope East will 
get a good colonel. He won’t do if he can’t respect those 
above him. How long it took him even here to learn the 
lesson of obeying.” 

“ Well, 1 wish 1 were alongside of him,” said Tom. 
“If I can’t be at Rugb}', I want to be at work in the 
world, and not dawdling away three years at Oxford. 

“ What do you mean by 4 at work in the world?’ ” said 
the master, pausing, with his lips close to his saucerful of 
tea, and peering at Tom over it. 

“ Well, I mean real work; one’s profession; whatever 
one will have really to do, and make one’s living by. I 
want to be doing some real good, feeling that I am not only 
at play in the world,” answered Tom, rather puzzled to 
find out himself what he really did mean. 

“ You are mixing up two very different things in your 
head, 1 think. Brown,” said the master, putting down the 
empty saucer, “ and you ought to get clear about them. 
You talk of ‘ working to get your living,’ and 4 doing some 
real good in the world,’ in the same breath. Now, you 
may be getting a very good living in a profession, and yet 
doing no good at all in the world, but quite the contrary, 
at the same time. Keep the latter before you as your only 
object, and you will be right, whether you make a living 
or not; but if you dwell on the other, you’ll very likely 


260 


TOM BKOWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


drop into mere money-making, and let the world take care 
of itself for good or evil. Don’t be in a hurry about find- 
ing your work in the world for yourself; you are not old 
enough to judge for yourself yet, but just look about you 
in the place you find yourself in, and try to make things a 
little better and honester there. You’ll find plenty to keep 
your hand in at Oxford, or wherever else you go. And 
don’t be led away to think this part of the world important 
and that unimportant. Every corner of the world is im- 
portant. No man knows whether this part or that is most 
so, but every man may do some honest work in his own 
corner.” 

And then the good man went on to talk wisely to Tom 
of the sort of work which he might take up as an under- 
graduate; and warned him of the prevalent university sins, 
and explained to him the many and great differences be- 
tween university and school life; till the twilight changed 
into darkness, and they heard the truant servants stealing 
in by the back entrance. 

“ I wonder where Arthur can be,” said Tom at last, 
looking at his watch: “ why, it’s nearly half past nine al- 
ready.” 

44 Oh, he is comfortably at supper with the eleven, for- 
getful of his oldest friends,” said the master. 4 4 Nothing 
has given me greater pleasure,” he went on, 44 than your 
friendship for him; it has been the making of you both.” 

44 Of me, at any rate,” answered Tom; 44 1 should never 
have been here now but for him. It was the luckiest chance 
in the world that sent him to Rugby, and made him my 
chum. ” 

44 Why do you talk of lucky chances?” said the master; 
44 1 don’t know that there are any such things in the world; 
at any rate there was neither luck nor chance in that 
matter. ” 

Tom looked at him inquiringly, and he went on. 

44 Do you remember when the doctor lectured you and 
East at the end of one half year, when you were in the 
shell, and had been getting into all sorts of scrapes?” 

44 Yes, well enough,” said Tom: 44 it was the half year 
before Arthur came.” 

“ Exactly so,” answered the master. 44 Now, I was 
with him a few minutes afterward, and he was in great dis- 


TOM brown’s school-days. 2GJ 

tress about you two. And, after some talk, we both agreed 
that you in particular wanted some object in the school 
beyond games and mischief; for it was quite clear that you 
never would make the regular school work your first object. 
&nd so the doctor, at the beginning of the next half year, 
looked out the best of the new boys, and separated you and 
■Hast, and put the young boy into your study, in the hope 
that when you had somebody to lean on you, you would 
begin to stand a little steadier yourself, and get manliness 
and thoughtfulness. And I can assure you he has watched 
the experiment ever since with great satisfaction. Ah! not 
one of you boys will ever know the anxiety you have given 
him, or the care with which he has watched over every step 
m your school lives.” 

Up to this time Tom had never wholly given in to or 
understood the doctor. At first he had thoroughly feared 
him. For some years, as I have tried to show, he had 
learned to regard him with love and respect, and to think 
him a very great and wise and good man. But, as regard- 
ed his own position in the school, of which he was no little 
proud, Tom had no idea of giving any one credit for it but 
himself, and, truth to tell, was a very self-conceited young 
gentleman on the subject. He was wont to boast that he 
had fought his own way fairly up the school, and had never 
made up to or been taken up by any big fellow or master, 
and that it was now quite a different place from what it 
was when he first came. And, indeed, though he didn’t 
actually boast of it, yet in his secret soul he did to a great 
extent believe that the great reform of the school had been 
owing quite as much to himself as to any one else. Arthur, 
he acknowledged, had done him good, and taught him a 
good deal, so had other boys in different ways, but they had 
not had the same means of influence on the school in gen- 
eral; and as for the doctor, why, he was a splendid master, 
but every one knew that masters could do very little out of 
school hours. In short, he felt on terms of equality with 
his chief, so far as the social state of the school was con- 
cerned, and thought that the doctor would find it no easy 
matter to get on without him. Moreover, his school tory- 
ism was still strong, and he looked still with some jealousy 
on the doctor, as somewhat of a fanatic in the matter of 
change, and thought it very desirable for the school that 
he should have some wise person (such as himself) to look 


262 


TOM brown’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 


sharply after vested school-rights, and see that nothing was 
done to the injury of the republic without due protest. 

It was a new light to him to find that, besides teaching the 
sixth, and governing and guiding the whole school, editing 
classics, and writing histories, the great head-master had 
found time in those busy years to watch over the career even 
of him, Tom Brown, and his particular friends — and, no 
doubt, of fifty other boys at the same time; and all this 
without taking the least credit to himself, or of seeming to 
know, or let any one else know, that he ever thought 
particularly of any boys at all. 

However, the doctor’s victory was complete from that 
moment over Tom Brown at any rate. He gave way at all 
points, and the enemy marched right over him, cavalry, 
infantry, and artillery, the land transport corps, and the 
camp followers. It had taken eight long years to do it, 
but now it was done thoroughly, and there wasn’t a corner 
of him left which didn’t believe in the doctor. Had he 
returned to school again, and the doctor begun the half 
year by abolishing fagging, and football, and the Saturday 
half holiday, or all or any of the most cherished school in- 
stitutions, Tom would have supported him with the blind- 
est faith. And so, after a half confession of his previous 
shortcomings, and sorrowful adieus to his tutor, from whom 
he received two beautifully bound volumes of the doctor’s 
sermons, as a parting present, he marched down to the 
school-house, a hero- worshiper, who would have satisfied 
the soul of Thomas Carlyle himself. 

There he found the eleven at high jinks after supper. 
Jack Baggies shouting comic songs, and performing feats 
of strength; and was greeted by a chorus of mingled re- 
monstrance at his desertion, and joy at his reappearance. 
And falling in with the humor of the evening, was soon as 
great a boy as all the rest; and at ten o’clock was chaired 
round the quadrangle, on one of the hall benches, borne 
aloft by the eleven, shouting in chorus, “ For he’s a jolly 
good fellow,” while old Thomas, in a melting mood, and 
the other school-house servants, stood looking on. 

And the next morning after breakfast he squared up all 
the cricketing accounts, went round to his tradesmen and 
other acquaintance, and said his hearty good-byes, and by 
twelve o’clock was in the train, and awav for London, no 
longer a school-boy, and divided in his thoughts between 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


263 


the hero^worship, honest regrets over the long stage of his 
life which was now slipping out of sight behind him, and 
hopes and resolves for the next stage, upon which he was 
entering with all the confidence of a young traveler. 


CHAPTER IX. 

FINIS. 

Strange friend, past, present, and to be; 

Loved deeplier, darklier underfeed; 

Behold, I dream a dream of good, 

And mingle all the world with thee. 

Tennyson. 

In the summer of 1842, our hero stopped once again at 
the well-known station, and leaving his bag and fishing- 
rod with a porter, walked slowly and sadly up toward the 
town. It. was now July. He had rushed away from Ox- 
ford the moment that term was over, for a fishing ramble 
in Scotland with two college friends, and had been for 
three weeks living on oat-cake, mutton-hams and whisky, 
in the wildest parts of Skye. They had descended one 
sultry evening on the little inn at Kyle Rhea ferry, and 
while Tom and another of the party put their tackle to- 
gether and began exploring the stream for sea-trout for 
supper, the third strolled into the house to arrange for 
their entertainment. Presently he came out in a loose 
blouse and slippers, a short pipe in his mouth, and an old 
newspaper in his hand, and threw himself on the heathery 
scrub which met the shingle, within easy hail of the fisher- 
men. There he lay, the picture of free-and-easy, loafing, 
hand-to-mouth young England, “improving his mind/’ 
as he shouted to them, by the perusal of the fortnight-old 
weekly paper, soiled with the marks of toddy glasses and 
tobacco ashes* the legacy of the last traveler, which he had 
hunted out from the kitchen of the little hostelry, and 
being a youth of a communicative turn of mind, began im- 
parting the contents to the fishermen as he went on. 

“ What a bother they are making about these wretched 
corn-laws; here’s three or four columns full of nothing 
but sliding-scales and fixed duties. Hang this tobacco, 
it’s always going out! Ah! here’s something better — a 
splendid match bet weep Kent and England, Brown! Kent 


564 


TOM brown’s SCHOOL-DAYS. 


winning by three wickets. Felix fifty-six runs without a 
chance, and not out!” 

Tom, intent on a fish which had risen at him twice, 
answered only with a grunt. 

“ Anything about the Goodwood?” called out the third 
man. 

“ Kory O’More drawn. Butterfly colt amiss,” shouted 
the student. 

“ Just my luck,” grumbled the inquirer, jerking his flies 
off the water, and throwing again with a heavy, sullen 
splash, and frightening Tom’s fish. 

“ I say, can’t you throw lighter over there? we ain’t 
fishing for grampuses,” shouted Tom across the stream. 

“ Halloo, Brown! here’s something for you,” called out 
the reading man next moment. “ Why, your old mater, 
Arnold of Rugby, is dead.” 

Tom’s hand stopped half-way in his cast, and his line 
and flies went all tangling round and round his rod; you 
might have knocked him over with a feather. Neither of 
his companions took any notice of him, luckily; and with a 
violent effort he set to work mechanically to diseu tangle 
his line. He felt completely carried off his moral and in- 
tellectual legs, as if he had lost his standing point in the 
invisible world. Besides which the deep loving loyalty 
which he felt for his old leader made the shock intensely 
painful. It was the first great wrench of his life, the first 
gap which the angel Death had made in his circle, and he 
felt numbed, and beaten down, and spiritless. Well, 
well! I believe it was good for him and for many others in 
like case, who had to learn by that loss that the soul of 
man can not stand or lean upon any human prop, however 
strong and wise, and good; but that He upon whom alone 
it can stand and lean will knock away all such props in 
His own wise and merciful way, until there is no ground or 
stay left but Himself, the Rock of Ages, upon whom alone 
a sure foundation for every soul of man is laid. 

.As he wearily labored at his line, the thought struck 
him, “ It may all be false, a mere newspaper lie,” and 
he strode up to the recumbent smoker. 

“ Let me look at the paper,” said he. 

“ Nothing else in it,” answered the other, handing it up 
to him listlessly. “ Halloo, Brown! what’s the matter, 
old fellow — ain’t you well?” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


265 


“Where is it?” said Tom, turning over the leaves, his 
hands trembling and his eyes swimming, so that he could 
not read. 

“What? What are you looking for?” said his friend, 
jumping up and looking over his shoulder. 

“ That— about Arnold,” said Tom. 

“Oh, here,” said the other, putting his finger on the 
paragraph. Tom read it over and over again; there could 
be no mistake of identity, though the account was short 
enough. 

“ Thank you,” said he at last, dropping the paper. “ I 
shall go for a walk; don’t you and Herbert wait supper for 
me.” And away he strode, up over the moor at the back 
of the house to be alone and master his grief if possible. 

His friend looked after him, sympathizing and wonder- 
ing, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, walked over 
to Herbert. After a short parley, they walked together 
up to the house. 

“ I’m afraid that confounded newspaper has spoiled 
Brown’s fun for this trip.” 

“ How odd that he should be so fond of his old master,” 
said Herbert. Yet they also were both public-school men. 

The two, however, notwithstanding Tom’s prohibition, 
waited supper for him, and had everything ready when he 
came back some half hour afterward. But he could not 
join in their cheerful talk, and the party was soon silent, 
notwithstanding the efforts of all three. One thing only 
had Tom resolved, and that was, that he couldn’t stay in 
Scotland any longer; he felt an irresistible longing to get 
to Rugby, and then home, and soon broke it to the others, 
who had too much tact to oppose. 

So by daylight the next morning he was marching 
through Ross-shire, and in the evening hit the Caledonian 
canal, took the next steamer, and traveled as fast as boat 
and railway could carry him to the Rugby station. As he 
walked up to the town, he felt shy and afraid of being seen, 
and took the back streets; why he didn’t know, but he 
followed his instinct. At the school gates he made a dead 
pause; there was not a soul in the quadrangle— all was 
lonely, and silent, and sad. So with another effort he 
strode through the quadrangle and into the school-house 
offices. 

He found t]je little matron in her room & deep mourn' 


2G6 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


mg; shook her hand, tried to talk and moved nervously 
about: she was evidently thinking of the same subject as 
he, but he couldn’t begin talking. 

“ Where shall I find Thomas?” said he at last, getting 
desperate. 

“ In the servants’ hall, I think, sir. But won’t you 
take anything?” said the matron, looking rather disap- 
pointed. 

“ No, thank you,” said he, and strode off again to find 
the old verger, who was sitting in his little den as of old, 
puzzling over hieroglyphics. 

He looked up through his spectacles, as Tom seized his 
hand and wrung it. 

“ Ah! you’ve heard all about it, sir, I see,” said he. 

Tom nodded and then sat down on the shoe-board, while 
the old man told his tale, and wiped his spectacles, and 
fairly flowed over with quaint, homely, honest sorrow. 

By the time he had done, Tom felt much better. 

“ Where is he buried, Thomas?” said he at last. 

“ Uuder the altar in the chapel, sir,” answered Thomas. 
“ You’d like to have the key, I dare say.” 

“ Thank you, Thomas — yes, 1 should very much.” And 
the old man fumbled among his bunch, and then got up, 
as though he would go with him; but after a few steps 
stopped short, and said, “Perhaps you’d like to go by 
yourself, sir?” 

Tom nodded, and the bunch of keys was handed to him, 
with an injunction to be sure and lock the door after him, 
and bring them back before eight o’clock. 

He walked quickly through the quadrangle and out into 
the close. The longing which had been upon him and 
driven him thus far, like the gad-fly in the Greek legends, 
giving him no rest in mind or body, seemed all of a sudden 
not to be satisfied, but to shrivel up and pall. 

“ Why should I go on? It’s no use,” he thought, and 
threw himself at full length on the turf, and looked vaguely 
and listlessly at all the well-known objects. There were a 
few of the town boys playing cricket, their wicket pitched 
on the best piece in the middle of the big-side ground, a sin 
about equal to sacrilege in the eyes of a captain of the 
eleven. He was very nearly getting up to go and send them 
off. “Pshaw! they won’t remember me. They’ve more 
right here than I,” he muttered. And the thought that hd3 


TOM BROWN S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


267 


scepter had departed, and his mark was wearing out, came 
home to him for the first time, and bitterly enough. He 
was lying on the very spot where the fights came ofi; where 
he himself had fought six years ago his first and last battle. 
He conjured up the scene till he eould almost hear the 
shouts of the ring, and East's whisper in his ear; and looking 
across the close to the doctor’s private door, half expected 
to see it open, and the tall figure in cap and gown come 
striding under the elm-trees toward him. 

No, no! that sight could, never be seen again. There 
was no flag flying on the round tower! the school-house 
windows were all shuttered up, and when the flag went up 
again, and the shutters came down, it would be to welcome 
a stranger. All that was left on earth of him whom he had 
honored was lying cold and still under the chapel floor. 
He would go in and see the place once more, and then leave 
it once for all. New men and new methods might do for 
other people; let those who would worship the rising star; 
he at least would be faithful to the sun which had set. 
.And so he got up and walked to the chapel door and un- 
locked it, fancying himself the only mourner in all the broad 
land, and feeding on his own selfish sorrow. 

He passed through the vestibule, and then paused for a 
moment to glance over the empty benches. His heart was 
still proud and high, and he walked to the seat which he 
had last occupied as a sixth-form boy, and sat himself down 
there to collect his thoughts. 

And, truth to tell, they needed collecting and setting in 
order not a little. The memories of eight years were all 
dancing through his brain, and carrying him about whither 
they would; while beneath them all, his heart was throb- 
bing with the dull sense of a loss that could never be made 
up to him. The rays of the evening sun came solemnly 
through the painted windows above his head, and fell in 
gorgeous colors on the opposite wall, and the perfect stillness 
soothed his spirit by little and little. And he turned to 
the pulpit, £nd looked at it, and then leaning forward with 
his head on his hands, groaned aloud. “ If he could only 
have seen the doctor again for five minutes; have told him 
all that was in his heart, what he owed to him, how he 
loved and reverenced him, and would by God’s help follow 
his steps in life and death, he could have borne it all with- 
out a murmur. But that be should have gone away forevqj 


268 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


without knowing it all, was too much to bear. “ But um 
I sure that he does not know it all?" — the thought made 
him start — “ May he not even now be near me, in this very 
chapel? If he be, am I sorrowing as he would have me 
sorrow— as I should wish to have sorrowed when 1 shall 
meet him again?" 

He raised himself up and looked around; and after a 
minute rose and walked humbly to the lowest bench, and 
sat down on the very seat which he had occupied on his first 
Sunday at Rugby. And then the old memories rushed 
back again, but softened and subdued, and soothing him as 
he let himself be carried away by them. And he looked 
up at the great painted window above the altar, and re- 
membered how when a little boy he used to try not to look 
through it at the elm-trees and rooks, before the painted 
glass came — and the subscription for the painted glass, and 
the letter he wrote home for money *to give to it. And 
there, down below, was the very name of the boy who sat 
on his right hand on that first day, scratched rudely in 
the oak paneling. 

And then came the thought of all his old school-fellows; 
and form after form of boys, nobler, and braver, and purer 
than he, rose up and seemed to rebuke him. Could he not 
think of them, and what they had felt and were feeling, 
they who had honored and loved from the first the man 
whom he had taken years to know and love? Could he 
not think of those yet dearer to him who were gone, who 
bore his name and shared his blood, and were now without 
a husband or a father? Then the grief which he began 
to share with others became gentle and holy, and he 
rose up once more and walked up the steps to the altar; 
and while the tears flowed freely down his cheeks, knelt 
down humbly and hopefully, to laydown there his share of 
a burden which had proved itself too heavy for him to bear 
in his own strength. 

Here let us leave him— where better could we leave him 
than at the altar before which he had first caught a glimpse 
of the glory of his birthright, and felt the drawing of i he 
bond which links all living souls together in one brother- 
hood — at the grave beneath the altar of him who had opened 
his eyes to see that glory, and softened his heart till it 
could feel that bond. 

And let us not be hard on him, if at that moment his soul 


TOM BROWNES SCHOOL-DAYS. 


269 


is fuller of the tomb and him who lies there than of the altar 
and Him of whom he speaks. Such stages have to begone 
through, I believe, by all young and brave souls, who must 
win their way through hero-worship to the worship of Him 
who is the King and Lord of heroes. For it is only through 
our mysterious human relationships, through the love and 
tenderness and purity of mothers, and sisters, and wives, 
through the strength and courage and wisdom of fathers, 
and brothers, and teachers, that we can come to the knowl- 
edge of Him in whom alone the love, and the tenderness, 
and the purity, and the strength, and the courage, and the 
wisdom of all these dwell forever and ever in perfect full- 
ness. 


fHB LNB. 



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